


The Road

by eyeus



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeus/pseuds/eyeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezio discovers that there are consequences to his actions, and the road to redemption is never easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story continues on from **kissmytypos’** fic, “Good Intentions”, which can be read [here](http://kissmytypos.livejournal.com/857.html).
> 
> My sincere thanks to **kissmytypos** for permission to write the sequel, and **espereth** for patiently beta’ing this chapter.

Chapter One.

1

The lone assassin crouched on a rickety wooden beam, far above the damp and dirty streets of Venezia, as he watched light fade from the floating city. His latest mark had taken a long time to track down, even with the help of the Vision, and though he had not received further assassination contracts from the Medici patriarch, he found himself wanting for stamina and strength.

Ezio’s lips quirked upward in amusement as echoes of flighty laughter from courtesans floated towards him, but the expression was soon replaced with a scowl. As much as he enjoyed being surrounded by the nubile young flesh of Sister Teodora’s establishment, he did not fancy visiting a brothel to rest tonight. Nor did he wish to encounter other citizens of Venezia there, with their petty vices and frivolous personalities. 

The thought of finding sanctuary at the Palazzo della Seta passed quickly as well. While the thieves were pleasant company, especially in light of their latest headquarters, the last thing he needed was another moral lecture from Antonio or Rosa’s sly sniping with regard to his tryst with Leonardo. The one person least likely to give him grief over his actions, however, was the one he sought to avoid.

As Ezio leaped from the beam, his arms outstretched in flight, his sigh was lost to the whistling wind that rushed up to meet him.

He would take his chances.

2

Ezio negotiated numerous rooftops and dim lantern-lit streets to find his way to Leonardo’s workshop. As he neared the door, he knocked cautiously, twice. When there was no response, he eased the door open slowly, taking care to make little sound in case his friend had not yet turned in for the night.

Leonardo was seated cross-legged on a faded embroidered rug, staring contemplatively into the fire. A glass of wine, barely filled with the contents of the bottle beside it, was set at his side. As he leaned forward to stoke the fire half-heartedly, an old floorboard creaked under Ezio’s foot, drawing an inward hiss from the assassin.

The artist turned at the sound, setting down the poker. “Ezio! I was just having a drink. Care to join me?” He raised his glass and patted the rug next to him. 

Ezio’s protest died in his throat as memories of having vanished from Antonio’s tea time and subsequent eavesdropping returned. When he made no move to come forward, Leonardo rose to his feet, a little unsteadily, slopping some wine onto his breeches and chemise.

“Stay there,” Ezio said hastily, making his way across the creaking floorboards. He fought the urge to look at the damned costume, but despite how far back in the workshop it was, it stood out proudly from the woodwork housing, mocking him. Ezio tore his gaze away before Leonardo could catch him staring at it.

As Leonardo reached toward a table for another glass and decanted a portion of wine into it, he glanced at Ezio. “For someone who usually has a way with words, you are rather quiet tonight.” 

Ezio gave him a wan smile as he settled onto the rug. “I feel ill at ease, imposing on you at this hour. And should you really be so liberal with your…” His voice trailed off as he eyed the extravagant bottle. It was not above Leonardo to indulge, but not to this extent.

“Please.” Leonardo laughed as he followed Ezio’s gaze, and waved his hand nonchalantly. “It was a gift. From a patron. To, ah, celebrate the completion of his commission.”

Knowing that Leonardo was working on his art again produced a painful throb of satisfaction. Perhaps his choice to maintain his silence about that night had been justified after all. 

“So,” began Leonardo casually, as he swirled the liquid in the glass, “what brings you here tonight?” He frowned. “Surely there are no guards chasing you at _this_ hour?”

Shaking his head, Ezio laughed, amused that Leonardo’s first thought would be that the law was on his trail. He started to say something about a Codex page, before realizing he had none in his possession. “I need a place to stay, just for the night and…the brothels were full and…” The words sounded like excuses in his ears, but Leonardo was already nodding solemnly.

“Of course there is room for you, my friend. There always will be,” Leonardo replied, a soft smile gracing his face, as he pressed the glass of wine into Ezio’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder.

Again, Ezio’s eyes flicked guiltily to the costume in the recess of the workshop. Perhaps he had a place in Leonardo’s home, but he did not deserve the same of Leonardo’s life.

3

Ezio drank deeply, wondering if he had been bewitched with a philter for his senses to be heightened to such a degree. The fire fell upon Leonardo’s face just so, accentuating his tawny hair, his lips, but his eyes—Ezio could barely read his eyes, they seemed clouded, troubled to a degree. He let out a grunt of dismay when Leonardo took the glass from him, but was reassured gently, calmingly, that he only meant to refill it and then…Leonardo was trailing his fingers carelessly in the wine glass, and Ezio found himself wishing that he could be the droplet of wine that clung to the artist’s fingers, as Leonardo brought them to his mouth and licked them away.

Leonardo continued to talk, about improvements for the flying machine, and soon the bright fervour of inspiration began to chase the darkness from his eyes. Similarly, Ezio continued to drink, and each time he held up his hand to stop, Leonardo would urge another glass upon him, plying him with more. The rich, velvet liquid sat on his tongue, and as Leonardo spoke, Ezio found himself savouring not only the taste, but his friend’s _words_ as well. The artist’s voice was like honeyed wine, hypnotic without monotone, ebbing and flowing, just audible enough to draw him in, and despite himself, Ezio leaned forward, breathing in his scent. It was a heady rush redolent of resin and balsam, suggesting that Leonardo had been trying new things with his paint.

And then Leonardo was making a request, the end of which Ezio barely caught, dazed as he was by the artist’s intoxicating scent. Of _course_ he would give in. He would never deny Leonardo’s requests, except for one thing. What was it now…

“Stay here,” said Leonardo, smiling softly. “I have an idea.”

Ezio nodded, unsure of what to expect, but this was _Leonardo_ , his ideas were always brilliant, with a few exceptions.

He snapped out of his reverie when Leonardo returned, with something in his hands. 

This was one of those exceptions.

“Leonardo, I do not think this is—”

“Please, Ezio,” Leonardo insisted. “Humour me.” Despite his level tone, Ezio sensed a plea of desperation creeping into his voice, his note plaintive. 

So he was _pining_. But for what? 

For the man he did not know, the man Ezio could not be? Suddenly it struck him why Leonardo had been drinking and—

Leonardo was tugging the mask over Ezio’s face, adjusting the wolf’s maw just so, the familiar cloth draping over his mouth. 

“Beautiful,” the artist murmured, as he toyed with the flap of cloth. “It looks perfect on you.” He traced long, supple fingers along the edge of Ezio’s jaw.

“Leonardo, I—” Ezio managed to say, before lips pressed softly to his. 

He stiffened under the mask, not daring to move, and where Leonardo’s lips were warm and pliant, his own remained unyielding and obstinate. Leonardo pressed against him distractingly, his hands snaking behind Ezio’s waist to wind his fingers in the thick cape. As he crept ever closer, his cheeks flushed, eyes meeting Ezio’s in a half-lidded gaze, Ezio found himself increasingly tempted by the invitation, and he parted his lips slightly, groaning as Leonardo’s tongue darted between them. 

There could be no harm in a kiss; he could always blame their actions on the wine the next day…but then he felt Leonardo leaning into him, achingly hard against his thigh, and he wanted nothing more than to throw Leonardo down to the rug, reciprocate his kiss, and take him against the rough—

Leonardo pulled back suddenly, though he did not release Ezio’s cape. “Never mind,” he said, smiling thinly as a flush of embarrassment rose to his face. “I thought not.” He averted his eyes, and continued quietly, “I am sorry, Ezio. I did not mean to force my attentions upon you.”

Ezio stared at him for a moment and stood abruptly, earning a startled cry from Leonardo as the cape tore from his fingers. “I…” He struggled to say something coherent but only managed to lick his lips, shivering as he tasted the lingering flavor of wine and Leonardo upon them.

“I just remembered I have an errand to run. The Medici have many uses for an assassin.” He flashed Leonardo a weak smile, stifling the disgust welling up inside him for trying to escape so childishly. 

“Of…of course. Don’t let me keep you,” Leonardo replied, crestfallen. The flickering firelight coupled with the naked sorrow on his face in a way Ezio found heartbreakingly _beautiful_. 

“Grazie, my friend,” he said, turning to leave quickly. He did not wait for the customary hug, did not want Leonardo to see him to the door, preferring to escape into the night, away from all this. As Ezio closed the door behind him, he saw Leonardo cast him a furtive glance before turning to the fire once more, thoughtfully regarding the burning embers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezio discovers that there are consequences to his actions, and the road to redemption is never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere thanks to **kissmytypos** for permission to write the sequel, and **espereth** for patiently beta’ing this chapter.

Chapter Two.

1

“I see the assassin was busy last night,” Rosa remarked lightly, as she traced a finger over Ezio’s belt clasp. Her hands slid over the crimson sash at his waist to give the ends a teasing tug.

Ezio shrugged, shaking away the nagging effects of the wine from the previous night. “What can I say? The girls at Sister Teodora’s are very…accommodating,” he replied, spreading his hands and grinning. Rosa’s interest in how his previous night had gone was disconcerting, and he was dismayed at how his attempts to flirt with her were thwarted by this new curiosity. 

“Hmm, no doubt, but I did not mean the girls. I meant with Leonardo,” she said, tightening the sash suddenly.

With a short gasp at the constriction, Ezio pulled his sash back irritably. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw what you did,” Rosa said slyly. “Antonio had me drop by Leonardo’s to bring him a gift in return for his…designs.”

“I did not notice you.”

“No thief announces their presence like a gaudy stage actor. Besides, I did not stay long. Now stop changing the subject, I saw you wearing the mask from Carnivale. Have you told—”

“He asked me to wear it. To humor him.”

Rosa rolled her eyes. “I suppose you kissed him to _humor_ him, as well.”

“He kissed _me_. Of his own volition. I did nothing to incite him.” Ezio folded his arms over his chest, wondering just how much Rosa had seen. Her pleased expression was beginning to unnerve him more than her temperamental moods.

“Yes, yes, clearly _he_ took the initiative. I forget the great Ezio Auditore has plenty of aplomb in seducing women but none when seducing a man. Except one.” Rosa gave him a small, relieved smile. “So, of course you have told him by now.”

“Told him what?”

“That it was _you_ that night, at Carnivale? His ‘mystery man’?”

The words formed on Ezio’s tongue, when there was a faint rustling in the alleyway where they spoke and the sound of things clattering to the ground. Rosa’s hand snapped immediately to her dagger and Ezio’s to his throwing knife. 

Rosa squinted into the distance. “…Leonardo?”

“Ah, Rosa. Hello,” replied the stooping figure conversationally, gathering the supplies that had dropped. Brushes and tubes of paint littered the ground in front of him. 

“What are you doing here?” Ezio asked, raising a brow. 

Leonardo glanced briefly at him and dropped his gaze just as quickly. “Antonio asked me to pick up several items.” There was a faint tremor in his voice as he mumbled something about having to finish commissions, and he hurried away. 

A perplexed look crossed Rosa’s face as she watched Leonardo disappear into the crowd. “Why does he run like a frightened mouse?”

Ezio cleared his throat as he shifted uneasily in place. 

“Oh,” she said simply, hands falling slack to her side, as the dawn of realization lit her face. A string of muttered curses that sounded very much like _bastardo_ and _cretino_ tumbled forth. “ _You_ ,” she spat, “did not tell him.” Rosa planted her hands on her hips.

“Do you think he heard us?” Ezio began cautiously. 

The thief drummed her fingers against her hip, thinking. “Well, he knows _now_ , if he did not know before,” she said slowly, a line of worry creasing her brow. 

This was another development he did not need, but at the same time, he felt an uncomfortable sense of relief. Ezio closed his eyes as he tried to take a calming breath. “How could this happen?” 

Rosa drew herself to her full height. “How could this _happen_? You should have told him from the start! He should not have heard it from _me_ ,” she said, jabbing her finger into Ezio’s chest. “I told you before. Leonardo is not one of your whores. He—”

“I know. I _know_ ,” Ezio said, sitting down a bench, his head in his hands. He raked a hand through his hair helplessly.

“You _know_ , and still you sit here! Aren’t you going to go after him?” Rosa asked, incredulously.

“What good would it do now?” he said, barely repressing a glower, though his shoulders hunched forward in resignation. 

Rosa stared back, unfazed. “Perhaps you can still salvage this if _you_ explain it to him.”

 

2

“Leonardo.” 

Ezio rapped twice on the door of the workshop, an action he had always associated with comfort, instead of the dread that plagued him now. “I need to speak with you.”

The slow scrape of a chair against wood. Measured shuffling. As Leonardo appeared at the doorway, Ezio caught the faint trace of wine on his breath. 

“Ah, Ezio. Come in, come in.” Leonardo stifled a soft, hiccupping breath as he pulled a cushioned chair towards Ezio. “My apologies, I am ill-equipped to entertain you—you’ve caught me in the middle of painting a commission. But have no fear, you are always welcome here.” 

Despite his even tone, the multitude of words could not hide the telltale swelling under his eyes, and Ezio inhaled slowly, resisting the urge to take Leonardo into his arms to comfort him. With a sweeping glance of the workshop, he discovered yet another open wine bottle. A twinge of guilty worry struck him, as he wondered how much alcohol Leonardo had had, especially since his friend tended to forego nourishment when creative impulse consumed him.

Leonardo busied himself at a table, pushing stacks of paper and old canvases aside. “I have some wine left over from the other night, and perhaps some fruit, if I could just find them. Would you like—”

Resting his hand gently on the hilt of his sword for courage, Ezio cleared his throat. “Leonardo. We need to talk.”

The artist froze, and his steady stream of words halted. “Fine. You wish to talk, we are talking.”

Never before had the struggle for words been more difficult. “About what Rosa said.” 

“She must have been mistaken.” Leonardo looked at Ezio searchingly. 

“She was not.”

A long silence. Leonardo only continued to stare at him. Discomfited by how quiet it was, Ezio stepped towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder, but it was shrugged off forcefully.

“I had my suspicions, but for them to actually be…and to think, I tortured myself so, thinking I had forced my feelings upon you, when the one doing the actual forcing was…” Leonardo met Ezio’s gaze, his eyes narrowed, as if studying the assassin. 

“Ezio,” he said, his watchful look unwavering, “were you ever going to tell me it was you?”

The pause that followed was damning. “Ah,” Leonardo nodded. “I see.”

“Leonardo, I was _going_ to—”

“Going to what, continue lying to me? Is that what friends do, Ezio? Lie to each other? Or is deception just another tenet of your _creed_?”

Ezio drew in a sharp breath, wincing from the insult to his reason for being. From the stricken look on Leonardo’s face, it seemed he had realized his mistake. 

Leonardo opened his mouth as if in apology, but no words came, and he turned, his cape whirling about him. “Leave. I have nothing more to say to you.”

“When will I see you again?” Panic surged within Ezio—he still had Codex pages to decipher, designs yet uncrafted—followed by overwhelming shame, at his first thought having been for material gain instead of Leonardo’s well being.

Leonardo was silent for a moment. “Perhaps it is better if you do not,” he said quietly. 

Ezio gritted his teeth. “So. This is what our friendship means to you.” He ground the words out bitterly, abhorring their hypocritical edge.

“In that case, we have very different views on what our friendship entails, don’t we?” Leonardo responded dryly, as he glared over his shoulder. 

Words of retaliation sprang to mind, but when Ezio opened his mouth to say something, anything, nothing came. So he did what he was best at, what every assassin excelled at. 

He ran.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezio discovers that there are consequences to his actions, and the road to redemption is never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere thanks to **kissmytypos** for permission to write the sequel, and **espereth** for patiently beta’ing this chapter. Thanks to everyone reading this as well!

Chapter Three. 

1

Ezio wove his way through the crowd, tugging on the edge of his hood to further conceal his face. Once inconspicuous, he clambered up the side of the Campanile di San Marco, the tallest viewpoint Venezia had to offer, and settled in a corner of the loggia. 

He slid the right blade out of the bracer, examining the flecks of blood from his last assassination. As he wiped them off with a rag, flinging the bloodied cloth to the side, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth; he could not help but remember the gentle rebuke Leonardo had given him about keeping his weapons clean to prevent rusting and studied the blade again. Besides its deadly utility, it had been made with care and precision, the designs etched into the blade and bracer a hallmark of the crafter’s artisan attention to detail. 

Ezio sighed. Ever since he had parted on poor terms with the artist, his nomadic lifestyle had begun to take its toll. His battles seemed harsher, the sun seemed to beat relentlessly upon his back, and he wondered if all that he had done to conceal the truth from Leonardo, to shield him from pain and hurt, resulted in the opposite effect. 

He took a bite from an apple he had stolen from a fruit stand. It was too sour. 

That was the other thing.

The fruit was too sour, the bread was too hard, it was all too _everything_. He hurled the apple off the side of the tower, with a muttered expletive. For the first time, he realized just how important the young inventor had been, not just for deciphering codex pages, or creating contraptions that helped him in his missions.

No. He was more than that. 

Leonardo had provided him security, a haven at which he could rest, and trusted him so implicitly that Ezio had felt flattered that he could count Leonardo as his friend. 

_I wonder if he still thinks of me, after all this time_ , Ezio thought, as he gazed out upon the vista of the floating city.

Perhaps it would be better for Leonardo if he did not. For both of them.

 

2

“Stop that.”

 

Ezio froze, dropping the wooden block he had been fidgeting with. Antonio was proud of his wooden miniature of Venezia, a relic from his days at the Gilda dei Ladri, and it now had its own table of honor at the palazzo. With a short grimace at the fumble, Ezio retrieved the block and slid it back into its original place within the model.

“For a wanted man, you choose a poor place to keep a low profile,” Antonio noted, as he perused the books on a nearby shelf. “The thieves’ guild, no less.”

“I just need somewhere to concentrate,” Ezio answered casually. “I will leave as soon as I decode this.” A Codex page lay unfurled across the table in front of the wooden model, as Ezio sank lower in his chair. It was difficult to focus on his task when the candelabrum behind him threw his shadow across the page. Antonio had mounted it in the corner of the room, to mimic the ambience in the thieves’ old hideout.

“You mean, as soon as it is safe for you to walk the streets of Venezia again.” 

With a noncommittal grunt, Ezio stared at the parchment before him. He had tried moving different phrases around, transposing every other word, but nothing was working. How had Leonardo always managed to decipher them with such ease and skill? 

“One would think your first priority after killing a major official would be something other than an age-old document.” The leader of the thieves’ guild pulled a dusty tome from the shelf, studying the cover.

“Speak for yourself,” Ezio replied testily. He stared at the Codex page for another while, and in an act of pure desperation, showed it to Antonio. “Can you read this?”

Antonio examined the faded parchment, then shook his head as he handed it back. “I can make neither head nor tail of this, Ezio. Perhaps Leonardo could—”

“Send one of your thieves to run this down to him, then.”

“I haven’t the men to spare for that.”

Ezio threw his hands up in frustration, then pushed himself away from the table. As he stood, he began to pace the room in tight, measured steps. “I need this _now_.”

“There…” Antonio’s voice trailed off, as if hesitant to make the next suggestion. “There is another way, my friend.” He set his book carefully on the desk, giving Ezio a tentative glance.

Ezio paused, then shook his head. “No. It is impossible. I cannot,” he said frankly, resuming his pacing of the room. He was well aware of what the thief wished to propose. “We have been over this before.”

“You did not have an encrypted page you needed help with _then_ ,” the thief said pointedly. “Besides, it has been two years already, I cannot see why you will not make peace with the man.”

“He…” Ezio swallowed thickly. “He will not forgive me.”

“Well, while it is true that perhaps running away was not the best—”

“I did not _run away_ ,” hissed Ezio. Until now, he had managed to avoid discussing the specifics of his last meeting with Leonardo. The thieves had maintained an air of uneasy neutrality on the matter, but this was the first time Antonio deliberately broached the details—details that Ezio had not disclosed.

Rosa had slipped into the room to see what the commotion was all about and realized the gist of the conversation. “I told you to talk to him before, thinking you were better than this. But what did you do? You ran from him, like a frightened child,” she jeered. “Now the heralds will sing your praises, laud you as Ezio Auditore, the coward!”

An indignant cry escaped Ezio’s throat. “He told you I _ran_?”

“Rosa, please.” Antonio held up his hand. Rosa stood motionless for a moment, mouth set as if to protest the gesture for silence, then gave a disdainful shake of her head. She left quietly, but not before shooting the assassin a murderous glare over her shoulder. 

“Ezio,” Antonio began again, “do not be so hard on him. We had to coax the story out of him slowly.”

“I’m sure he could not wait to tell you. Perhaps over a cup of caffé?” Ezio replied, rolling his eyes. 

“How nice it must be,” said Antonio dryly, ignoring the jibe, “to have a friend who holds you in such high regard that he refuses to tarnish your reputation even under duress.”

Ezio stared at him darkly. “You _threatened_ him?”

Antonio raised a brow in puzzlement, then broke out into a grin as he clapped Ezio on the back. “Good, good! That is the Ezio I know, worried for Leonardo’s welfare. No, we charmed the story from him with the promise of new paints and materials from foreign lands with the next shipment.”

Clearly, Leonardo’s will could be broken in unconventional ways, and Ezio could not help but allow a nostalgic smile as he mused upon this. When he looked up again, he noticed that Antonio was still grinning broadly. 

“That was _not_ an admission,” he said, irritated at how easily he had been baited into reacting.

The thief chuckled. “Call it what you like, but it is easy to see you still care for him. You are fooling no one but yourself, Ezio.” 

Unsure of what to say, Ezio remained silent, turning away so the other man could not read his expression. Antonio came up behind him and laid a hand gently on his shoulder. “If for nothing else, do this for _him_. He was your closest friend, was he not? He deserves this much.” Antonio paused. “I cannot bear to watch two of my closest comrades destroy themselves like this.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have invited him for tea, would you?” Ezio asked, narrowing his eyes as he turned back to the thief.

Antonio spread his palms innocently. “No, this time the onus falls on you to make things right. Can you do that, or have I misjudged you, Auditore?”

Ezio noticed the deliberate omission of his first name, but had not noticed Antonio walking him to the entrance of the Palazzo della Seta and gently pushing him outside, until it was too late.

“Take care, Ezio. I await word of your success.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezio discovers that there are consequences to his actions, and the road to redemption is never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere thanks to **kissmytypos** for permission to write the sequel. Thanks to everyone reading this as well!
> 
>  **Spoilers:** Codex page content.

Chapter Four.

 

1

 

Standing alone at the gate of the thieves’ palazzo, Ezio suppressed the urge to display a rude gesture in response to Antonio’s self-satisfied grin. The thief had a valid point, however; he could not spend the rest of his life deliberately avoiding Leonardo. 

_It is a sad day when I have no qualms about assassinating a stranger, yet am afraid to visit my oldest friend_ , Ezio decided, as he made his way toward the workshop. 

In order to bypass the closely guarded rooftops of midday, he hurried through meandering alleyways and vaulted past unguarded balconies, keeping close to the shadows where possible. A sharp pain shot up his side after landing from a perilous jump, and Ezio grimaced, freeing the ancient scroll within his robes that dug into his rib. 

He wound his fingers around the tightly rolled parchment, recalling how Leonardo had often suffered for his association with him, enduring interrogations and attacks from overzealous city guards. The man seemed to be in higher spirits these days, however, without the constant shadow of guards to be vigilant for. Ezio’s observations of Leonardo from his secret vantage points told him as much, and any exceptions to the peace Leonardo now enjoyed were expertly removed.

A base unease stirred in Ezio’s gut. He was about to change all that, drawing Leonardo back into his life, like a moth to flame. Another thought took root, and he slowed mid-step. 

_Am I the moth drawn to flame, or the flame that brings ruin to the moth?_

Mindful of the time, Ezio banished the notion with a shake of his head and resumed his hurried pace.

 

2

 

Every turn, every shortcut was familiar to him, and he soon found himself at the door of the workshop, despite being waylaid by minstrels eager for coin.

Countless times, he had come by and gotten as far as the entrance, only for his courage to falter before knocking. This time, Ezio was urged forward by necessity as much as by the inundating desire to speak with the man. He readied his hand on the door, and though it was slightly ajar, knocked out of habit.

“Just a moment!” came a cheerful reply from inside.

God, how he had _missed_ that voice. 

Leonardo hurried to the door, but upon opening it, his bright expression darkened visibly. “Ezio.” His voice was tighter than garrote wire. “I did not expect to see _you_ again.”

Something in Ezio’s chest throbbed painfully when Leonardo spoke his name, combined with disappointment when the artist offered neither his customary embrace nor invitation to enter. Ezio motioned toward the interior of the workshop and nodded approvingly. “The years have been kind to you, Leonardo.”

For all the chaos Ezio had sown in Venezia, the workshop remained largely unravaged, save for several new sketches plastered on the stone walls and haphazardly arranged stacks of books on his worktables. The stifling, sultry heat of waxen candles blended with the rich scent of newly mixed oil paints to complete the studio’s ambience.

Leonardo shrugged, then stepped hesitantly towards Ezio. “But you…you are not the same at all.” A distant quality to his response, bordering on sadness. 

“I have been busy.” Ezio bowed his head briefly to acknowledge the observation, but did not elaborate further.

“So I have heard.” 

As Leonardo moved back, grudgingly allowing entry, Ezio noticed that he did not ask for an explanation; his custom was to wait for Ezio to tell him as much as the assassin wanted him to know. Ezio had long since decided that Leonardo was better off unaware - of whose blood had soiled his hands, whose lives he had taken in the name of revenge. It was an approach he applied even in matters of the heart.

 _With disastrous results_ , Ezio reflected, before Leonardo’s voice shook him out of his stupor. 

“What brings you here today?”

Certain that Leonardo would turn him away, Ezio inhaled tensely, his grip nearly crushing the Codex page. Warmth trickled from where nails dug bloody crescents into his palm. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”

Leonardo seemed contemplative for a moment. “Anything for you, my…” A faint hitch registered in his voice. “…My friend.”

Ezio released the anxious breath he had been holding and withdrew the scroll from his robes. As he held it out, Leonardo seized it with the enthusiasm of a child receiving a new gift.

“Another one! How exciting!” he exclaimed, as they shifted effortlessly into a caricature of their old routine. With a flourish, Leonardo unrolled the scroll and examined the text. “Hmm, if I just…oh, I _see_ , indeed…I could transpose these letters here and…it works.” He snatched up a quill, scratching it on another piece of parchment. “This entry seems to be about Altair’s foray into an artifact. It says here that he saw visions of flames, the destruction of metal towers, and…”

While he chattered away, Ezio wondered how Leonardo could speak like this, as if their petulant exchange had not occurred, and everything was as it had been, before Carnivale, before that night—

A dark glimmer of velvet in Leonardo’s studio caught his attention, and Ezio gestured absently toward the hirsute ensemble hanging in the workshop. “You still have that?” he asked in disbelief. 

The scroll dropped from Leonardo’s hands with a clatter. His fingers hesitated, but he did not turn around. “Of course. I keep it now as a reminder,” Leonardo replied. 

“Of what?”

Ezio was met with another long silence. The answer, when it came, was clipped. Concise. “Betrayal.”

The assassin flinched, as if he had been struck. “I would hardly call it—”

“You betrayed my _trust_ , Ezio.” Leonardo turned sharply, his eyes filled with a thin layer of hate, but most of all, _hurt_. “And still you will not concede?” 

The naked anguish in Leonardo’s expression stunned Ezio to silence, and he took a cautious step back, as if to turn and go.

“This again? Will you run every time things become difficult?” asked Leonardo.

How he _hated_ the cruel taunt in Leonardo’s voice; it did not belong in one such as he, and Ezio felt ashamed at knowing he was the cause of it.

“It is how I have survived for so long as an assassin,” he retorted, quickly retrieving the Codex page and slipping it back into his robes. He turned toward the door. “I must meet with another ally of mine now. Perhaps another time, Leonardo.” This meeting was not progressing the way he hoped it would, but he had expected as much. Of course Leonardo would not welcome him back without repercussions. He needed to retreat, organize his thoughts enough to try again, and—

Leonardo laughed, a low, pained sound, as he braced his hands against the worktable behind him. “Please, Ezio…do not go. I have thought about this for some time, and I have something to say.” 

Ezio folded his arms across his chest. “What is it?”

“I know the last time we exchanged words, I insulted your creed, and for that…I am sorry.”

It was no fault of Leonardo’s, but here he was, shouldering the burden that was not his to bear. 

“I was not of my right mind then. But,” he said, the fight fading from his eyes, “fear not. I have already made peace with what happened that night, Ezio. It was a mistake born of drunken revelry, nothing more.” Leonardo paused to glance imploringly at Ezio. “If we could just put it behind us…”

Ezio was already moving several steps forward, closing the distance between them. “Leonardo. Listen to me,” he said, gripping Leonardo’s wrist. “I…” He frowned, having no words to comfort him. Even if he had them, they would sound clumsy and brutish. He could agree it had been a mistake, they could put it behind them and move on, but—

“It was not a mistake.” Damn that part of him that did not _want_ to forget.

Within moments, Ezio swept him into a crushing hug, his arm sliding around Leonardo’s waist and one hand pressing Leonardo’s head softly to his shoulder. 

“Do not think me some wounded _bird_ ,” Leonardo said, struggling in Ezio’s embrace, but it only served to tighten the assassin’s arms around him. His breath was hot against the back of Ezio’s neck, and Ezio could feel Leonardo’s arms curling cautiously around his shoulders. “If it was not a mistake, then…?” 

He drew back, gazing at Ezio with bated breath, as if not daring to hope, but the hope in his eyes shone so vividly that for a moment, Ezio brought his lips to Leonardo’s ear, ready to speak words to soothe and appease.

Abruptly, Ezio’s reservations sprang to the forefront; Leonardo had to be kept safe from harm and kept at a distance, because his heart would be so easily broken should Ezio find another lover or meet his demise at the hands of the Borgia. That thought only bred more questions, more unknowns; it was clear what Leonardo wanted from him, but he did not know what he wanted from Leonardo, even if he survived his strife with the Templars. 

He forced himself to release the other man from his embrace, choosing his next words carefully, though he knew there were no words to make this right.

“It was a slip of judgment on my part. I do not care for you that way.” 

A well-meant lie.

It was all he could trust himself to say, as he steeled himself against Leonardo’s injured look and the overwhelming desire to enfold the artist in his arms again. 

“Then, that night…”

“That cannot happen again.”

Leonardo studied the stone walls of his workshop, as if deliberating a proposition. “Not even _once_ more, Ezio? Not as strangers, but as…” His voice trailed off, as though he did not dare to finish the sentence. 

_As lovers_ , thought Ezio longingly. _How I wish we could_. He gave a rueful shake of his head.

“Please, Ezio,” Leonardo pleaded, reaching out to clutch the lapels of the assassin’s attire. “I do not even care if you are destined to die, I will do _anything_ in my power to help you.” 

Even as his hands came up automatically to clasp Leonardo’s, Ezio made a mental note to be more careful about what he told the thieves. Neither Antonio nor Rosa could be blamed for breaking their oath of secrecy to provide solace to a friend, but the last thing he needed was for them to have fed Leonardo false hopes.

“And I know there are others, I do not expect you to be faithful—”

“I cannot do this. It would not be fair to you.”

The hint of a sob escaped Leonardo’s throat, as his fingers tightened around the collar’s coarse material. “You speak of _fairness_ , when you have ingrained yourself so firmly into my life? And into my heart?” Leonardo asked wretchedly. 

Ezio could only stare in response, the revelation touching something so raw within him that he found himself at a loss for words. He glanced at the door, but as he met Leonardo’s eyes again, the desperate, needing look he received in turn made him pause.

It would be so easy to surrender.

He could trap Leonardo against his workbench, capture his mouth in a warm, leisurely kiss and let his arms slide down to settle naturally around Leonardo’s hips, as he whispered words of desire, of devotion…

Clenching his fists in a bid to regain self control, Ezio followed by gripping Leonardo’s shoulders. The artist was trembling, seemingly engaged in a struggle to keep warring emotions in check; his hopeless, heart-rending expression was permeated by anxiety, perhaps at the possibility that he would lose Ezio forever. 

Ezio could allay that fear, at the very least.

“If it is any consolation,” he began, “I will always be your friend, until the end.” He pressed a thumb against Leonardo’s lips to quell the protest that had already begun to form. “So if we are to do this right, we must not let ourselves be ruled by passion, my friend.” The words rang hollow and false, without much conviction behind them. 

Leonardo murmured a soft noise of dissent at the last word and pulled away. “Yes…of course. You’re right.” He busied himself at the table, sketching out some designs, as if the conversation prior had not taken place. “Oh, as always,” he said with an air of false cheer, “if you find more Codex pages, please, bring them to me.”

Ezio started forward, wanting to say something heartening or at least touch Leonardo’s shoulder reassuringly, but it was clear there was nothing he could say to alleviate the situation. He exited the workshop quietly, counting himself lucky that Leonardo had not barred him from his life again.

 

3

 

When Ezio returned to the palazzo with news of his ‘success’, the thief could only shake his head in disbelief.

“Well,” Antonio said, settling down in a chair and kneading his temples, “you handled _that_ with all the finesse of performing a surgery with a butcher knife.”

Ezio leaned resignedly against Antonio’s desk, arms folded in front of him. He had no quick retort this time. “Leonardo gives me so much. So selflessly. And all I could offer him in return was an empty promise.”

A subdued sigh, with a shade of disappointment. “Perhaps there is still a way to—”

“No.” Ezio turned and planted his hands firmly on the desk. “It is done. Let it _be_.”

Antonio stood up slowly, deliberately, his eyebrows raised in askance. “Ezio. You cannot be serious. Look me in the eye and tell me you are fine with letting him go like this.”

Ezio could not bring himself to meet Antonio’s gaze. “It is for the best.”

The thief tossed his hands up in exasperation, muttering a string of curses and something about having to remedy the situation. Ezio hardly heard him, however; he was too preoccupied with wondering how he would refuse the artist the next time he visited. 

But Leonardo did not ask again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezio discovers that there are consequences to his actions, and the road to redemption is never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere thanks to **kissmytypos** for permission to write the sequel. Thanks to everyone reading this as well!
> 
>  **Spoilers:** ACII spoilers.

Chapter Five.

 

1

 

It was always the same routine after that.

Short greetings, discussion of Codex page contents and Leonardo’s generic wish of safety to conclude their meetings. 

And Ezio would be on his way again.

While he missed Leonardo’s embrace and discreet touches, their absence was a minor penalty for the normalcy their conversations regained. At the same time, he was not blind to Leonardo’s fleetingly wistful looks, the false smiles he struggled to conjure and the pained expressions that surfaced when he thought Ezio could not see. But Ezio held fast to his decision. He had his reasons and his calling: the Apple needed to be found, if only to thwart the prophecy the Spaniard was obsessed with, and key players in the Templar conspiracy would not eliminate themselves. 

Ezio was always alone; in a brothel room, nursing his latest wounds, the result of taking countless assassination contracts to distract himself, and in his loft at the Villa Auditore, where the sky was pallid grey and cold crept into his bones at night, no matter how he huddled for warmth. Even within familiar surroundings, nightmares plagued his sleep: visions of the hanged men, of Giovanni, Federico and Petruccio at the gallows, with their bloated, ashen faces and protruding eyes, ropes cinched so tightly around their necks they left angry, raw burns in their wake. Ezio would strain uselessly against the crowd, powerless to help his father and brothers—then jerk awake in a cold sweat, fearful of the darkness, his harsh breaths turning into sobs.

In those moments, he fervently wished Leonardo was there to comfort him. But although his friend had once been a spark of light in the darkness, his absence was only a bitter reminder that it was _Ezio_ who had turned him away, forsaking the light that could have been his.

 

2

 

Ezio strode through the front arch of Monteriggioni, flush with the success of retrieving the Apple again. The first time had been a matter of artfully intercepting a cargo box, but the second required disposing of a tyrannical priest bent on using it to control his cronies and the masses. Now, Ezio not only had the Apple in his possession, but irritation at having relinquished it had disappeared upon finding the last Codex page.

As he palmed the cool, golden sphere in his pouch, Ezio noticed the fortress town had flourished under his investments. No longer did Monteriggioni’s residents wander in a maze of dank, unlit alleyways and ramshackle buildings; they now walked proudly within the bright, rebuilt district, and it warmed his heart to hear some degree of the commerce that marked Firenze and Venezia. 

He broke into a sprint halfway across town and soon arrived at the entrance of the Villa Auditore. The gathered presence of the assassins Ezio knew was puzzling; Machiavelli, Bartolomeo, Sister Teodora, Antonio, La Volpe, and Paola had assembled in the hall and were moving to the study, toward the collection of Codex pages. Looking lost and sorely out of place amid the crowd of trained killers, was Leonardo. 

“What are you doing here, Leonardo?” Ezio asked, unable to keep the note of confusion from his voice. 

The artist turned quickly, startled. As he met Ezio’s stare, a flush of embarrassment and unease crept across his face. Mario appeared behind him just as he opened his mouth to speak and clapped a hand to his shoulder proudly.

“He is here on _my_ invitation, Ezio. I would have thought you would be happy to see him.”

Caught off guard by Mario’s geniality toward his friend but still conscious of their company, Ezio replied as casually as he could. “I never said I was not.”

The veteran mercenary raised a brow at his cool response, then shrugged. “Leonardo has been working with our architect to make improvements to the town,” he beamed, steering them toward the miniature of Monteriggioni.

Ezio fixed him with a stern look. Surely Mario had not spirited Leonardo away from his creative pursuits for architectural advice. 

“In addition to his own paintings, of course,” his uncle added hastily, gesturing at the easel that resided in the corner of the room. “I will let him tell you about these projects himself. In the meantime, perhaps you could ask Leonardo to help you make sense of the…” He glanced expectantly at Ezio. “Well, let me know when you are ready, nipote. I will be in the study with the others.”

So that was why they were all here. The discovery of the last Codex page _would_ be a grand occasion, enough to warrant Mario’s preemptive summoning of Leonardo and the other assassins to the villa.

A brief silence followed Mario’s departure. 

“Grazie, Leonardo,” Ezio said finally. “For everything.” 

Leonardo shrugged. “It was nothing. Just a few flights of fancy that happened to be useful. And of course, the Codex pages are a worthy challenge.”

“Speaking of which…” Ezio produced a scroll from his robes, a faint glow of pride in his motion. 

“You found another one?” Leonardo guessed, with a dry wisp of a smile. It seemed he had simply given up on the forced cheerfulness and settled for a neutral expression. His behavior was still guarded, however, as if he was treading carefully around the assassin. 

“The last,” Ezio confirmed.

“Ah.” Like his grip on the scroll, Leonardo’s voice faltered slightly, and Ezio saw a flicker of an emotion he could not quite place. He had thought Leonardo would share his feeling of triumph at having located the Grand Master Assassin’s entire legacy. The barest hint of his enthusiasm proved otherwise.

Unrolling the aged document carefully, Leonardo secured a quill to begin transcribing his decryption. “If I just rewrite this part…” He scrawled out a few lines, pausing now and then to examine the page, and for a while there was only the sound of the quill moving across parchment. 

Grateful for the lull, Ezio took the opportunity to watch Leonardo work. 

The intensity of his friend’s eyes had not faded over time, and Ezio envied the scroll, wishing _he_ could be the page in Leonardo’s hands. He wondered what it would be like, to be the subject of Leonardo’s focus. Whether he would be divested of his own secrets under his friend’s close scrutiny…if Leonardo’s fingers would be warm as he stroked with reverence, a knowing, curious smile playing across his lips as he coaxed the message from puzzling depths…

The quill halted. “Here,” Leonardo said, thrusting the scroll into Ezio’s hands. “Take it.”

Startled out of his thoughts, Ezio nearly missed a glimpse of a different expression, a forlorn one that went straight to his heart, and he suddenly understood. It was the same one Leonardo had in his workshop in Venezia, when afraid of being abandoned; only this time, he feared for his diminished value to Ezio, now that the Codex was entirely decrypted.

 _It isn’t_ just _about_ the Codex pages, Ezio wanted to say. 

There had to be a way to heal his hurt, even temporarily, and he brought his arms up to sweep Leonardo into a hug, when Bartolomeo’s harsh voice thundered out from the study. 

“Are you done with the Codex page, or do you need a tender moment with your wife?” 

A swell of nervous laughter arose, the other assassins clearly on tenterhooks from anticipation. Ezio narrowed his eyes at the untimely interruption. As his arms fell away from Leonardo’s waist, he realized Bartolomeo was right on some level; this was bigger than the two of them, than _any_ of them, and he told himself he would deal with Leonardo later, to ease the sorrow from his eyes.

A part of Ezio knew that Leonardo did not deserve a multitude of _laters_ ; he deserved a _now_. But if he did not do this, there would be no later. 

For anyone. 

Ezio gave Leonardo’s shoulder a thankful but brief pat. “The others, they are waiting for me,” he said, offering a thin, apologetic smile. He left Leonardo standing by his easel alone, with a canvas as dolefully vacant as the artist’s gaze after him.

 

3

 

The assembly of the Codex pages revealed a map, locating not only the other Pieces of Eden, but the rumoured vault of the prophecy as well. With this new information, there was only time enough for several things:

To speak of strategy: instilled as the new Pope, Rodrigo Borgia was perfectly positioned to access the vault and the Papal Staff, the other key besides the Apple. Ezio would head to the Vaticano to stop the Spaniard before he could unleash the vault’s contents, while the other assassins would cause trouble elsewhere in the city as distraction, and…

To bid hasty goodbyes, to those closest to him. His mother was as silent as ever, kneeling at her bed in mute, anguished prayer. Meanwhile, Claudia had the audacity to ask if he had come to look at the finances and upon finding he had not, bid him a cool farewell. Perhaps it was his sister’s way of dealing with his departure, as she had so many times before. 

And then there was one.

He approached the easel where Leonardo stood, dabbing paint over the faint outlines of a sketch. 

“Leonardo.” The name lay heavily upon his conscience. “I must leave for Roma. Rodrigo awaits.”

“I see.” Leonardo nodded at his artwork, giving no inclination that he was at all worried. His brush paused however, hovering almost thoughtfully above the canvas.

“If I do not return, I want you to know…” Ezio stopped. He knew what he wanted to say, but could not give voice to the words.

Noticing the silence, Leonardo turned questioningly, and Ezio decided to forego words, ignoring the squawk of surprise to slide his arms around the artist’s waist and crush him into a rough embrace. His own beard had grown fully now, and he could not help but relish how it scraped coarsely against Leonardo’s, how his friend’s breath was hot and damp against his neck. Ezio breathed in deeply, desperately engraving the moment into memory: the faint scent of oil paints and lavender, the warmth of Leonardo in his arms—elation, too, at how _Leonardo_ clung to him, with equal strength and urgency—

“Roma beckons, Ezio,” Mario called out, sounding almost mirthful. “Let me know when you are ready to depart.”

Ezio sent a scathing glare in the direction of the study and noticed Claudia looking up from her book, a curious stare on her face. “I must go,” he said, pulling away reluctantly.

Leonardo’s palm lingered on the clasp of his pauldron, absently tightening it, and Ezio felt a faint flutter in his chest at how intimate the small gesture seemed. “Stay safe, Ezio. And be careful, my…” He paused, then shook his head and smiled wistfully. 

“Leonardo?” Ezio prompted, reaching out to grasp his forearm, but the artist had already turned away. 

“My friend,” came the hoarse whisper. 

Not trusting himself to speak, Ezio nodded and turned toward the study. Their time was up; the hour for action had come. With every step in the direction of the assassins, his heart yearned to go back, to the cozy room with its tiny replica of the town, the chest of overflowing florins and most of all, Leonardo. But the mission, _his_ mission, compelled him ever forward.

 

4

 

It was only later, when they were a safe distance away from Monteriggioni, away from everything he held dear, that Ezio gathered the courage to make a request of his uncle.

“If I fail to stop Rodrigo, I need you to pass a message to Leonardo.”

Mario slowed his horse to an anxious trot beside Ezio’s and cast him a reproachful look. “I thought you had said all your goodbyes, Ezio.”

Having no rejoinder at the ready, Ezio could only frown as Mario’s words drove home the gravity of his mission. His uncle threw a quick glance at the other assassins riding ahead and lowered his voice, relenting. “What was it you wanted me to tell him, nipote?”

“Never mind,” Ezio said, setting his mouth into a grim line. “I will tell him myself.” 

He kicked his horse into a gallop. There would be time after Roma; he would find out what Leonardo had to say, perhaps even tell him how _he_ felt in turn.

Everything would be right again, when this business with the Borgia was done, when he returned.

That was, if he returned at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezio discovers that there are consequences to his actions, and the road to redemption is never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere thanks to **kissmytypos** for permission to write the sequel. Thanks to everyone reading this as well!
> 
>  **Spoilers:** ACB spoilers.

Chapter Six.

 

1

 

“Welcome home, Ezio!”

“Look, it is Ezio!” A child’s voice. 

It was a hero’s welcome he received upon returning to Monteriggioni, one he felt undeserved, unless mercy was something a _hero_ gave to the enemy responsible for the death of their family. 

While the Apple remained in his possession after opening the vault, the Staff had been swallowed within the earth, and for all the commotion about the Vaticano’s secret chamber, it had housed neither God himself nor a fantastical weapon. Instead, there had only been a projected image that spoke a cryptic message, then vanished—along with any hopes for an advantage in the war against the Templars or closure for the death of his family. The worst insult was that the message had not even been for _him_. 

“Brother!” Ezio’s thoughts were interrupted at the sight of Claudia hurrying down the stone steps from the villa, her dress hoisted to her ankles to keep the hems from staining. “Welcome home!” She threw her arms around his neck.

Ezio folded her into a careful hug. “It is good to be back, Claudia. How is mother doing?”

She ran her hands idly over his bracers, asserting that he was not a mirage. “Mother? She is not fully recovered, but has begun speaking again and is doing some chores around the villa.” Claudia smiled softly, as if delighted at the return of both her brother and the mother she had known.

Ezio’s heart leapt at the thought of Maria returning to her former self, instead of the broken shell kneeling by the bed, mourning the loss of her husband and sons. If she was all right, then—

“What of Leonardo? I need to speak with him.” His sister would know of Leonardo’s whereabouts, having been at the villa during the assassins’ time in Roma.

“So quick to ask about your artist friend?” Claudia cocked her head slightly, her tone light, teasing, but when she stepped back, her expression turned somber. “No one knew where he was going, but he left soon after you did. Leonardo has not yet returned.”

A sensation of regret roiled in his chest. Perhaps Leonardo had thought it best to leave before Ezio returned, to avoid an unpleasant homecoming. To avoid _him_. If that was what he desired, Ezio could do little to stop him.

“Well?” demanded Claudia impatiently, derailing his thoughts again. “Is it finally finished? Is the Spaniard truly dead?” 

He released a slow, controlled sigh. “I will explain everything, once the others are gathered in the study.” 

Claudia’s face lit up, as she nodded and ascended the stairs to the villa. “Oh, Ezio,” she added, turning around, “I nearly forgot. The Countess of Forlì is here too. I had no idea you were so _famous_.” She flashed him a coquettish smile.

Ezio managed a wry smile in return, ignoring his suspicion that Caterina had only come to Monteriggioni to seek aid. 

Perhaps her presence could be a good thing. A new start.

 

2

 

Ezio’s instinct had not failed him.

Caterina had indeed come to ask for his mercenaries to defend Forlì, but there were other pressing matters at hand; fielding Machiavelli’s hostility and Mario’s obvious disappointment at discovering Rodrigo Borgia lived were arduous tasks on their own. 

Following Machiavelli’s outburst and declaration that he was leaving for Roma, Mario padded forward to place his hand solemnly on Ezio’s shoulder. “I do not know why you spared him, Ezio, but I trust your judgment,” he said, in a clear bid to offer reassurance. 

His uncle’s words were a cold comfort in the face of the stricken expressions on his mother and sister, and Ezio turned from the study, cape trailing gloomily behind him, to find solace in his private sanctuary.

Arriving at his quarters at the top of the villa, Ezio flung his bracer to the night table and tossed his armour haphazardly across a chair. Then he lay on the bed, an arm draped angrily over his eyes. He was one man against the Borgia’s _entire_ army, with a quest that brought him no closer to the answers he sought, left him with questions that none could answer. Only heartbreak and despondency awaited him at the end, stares from comrades and family alike, their eerie silence seeming to scream _You let us down—we put our faith in you and you have nothing to show for it!_ He had failed them and in doing so, failed himself.

At his most vulnerable, Caterina had slipped into his room, all seduction and sensuous whispers, and soft, feminine curves, and he gladly partook of the easy, available pleasure. It had been so _long_ since the last…

Deep down, he felt a brief twinge of guilt, but decided that what Leonardo did not know would not hurt him.

Besides, Ezio noted sullenly, _Leonardo_ was the one who had left.

 

3

 

“You are here for Cesare and Rodrigo.”

Ezio nodded in grim agreement. The painful grip Machiavelli had on his scarcely-healed shoulder only reaffirmed the agony of losing his home and everything he had loved. 

Both assassins stood just out of sight of the guards surrounding the Castel Sant’Angelo in Roma, observing the spectacle outside. As he watched the captured countess being publicly denounced, Ezio spared a brief thought on how blind he had been, so focused on the one front with Rodrigo that he had missed the threat from behind. Cesare Borgia was every bit the power-hungry, vicious tactician his father had been, if not better, and Ezio gritted his teeth, the memory of Monteriggioni besieged surging to mind.

In the memory, it is barely a day after his return to the quaint fortress town, and already the acrid stench of gunpowder drifts thick in the air while cannonballs smash through the fortifications, making Ezio’s head swim and his ears ring. He desperately _depends_ on his prowess at free-running to make it to the next section of the battlement, the next and the next, staying just one step ahead as the sturdy stones of Monteriggioni, nearly three hundred years strong, collapse behind him like so much decrepit wood. 

A ferocious explosion rocks the front gate of the town— _his_ town—and Ezio freezes in his tracks as debris hurtles inward, his heart nearly breaking at the sight of his uncle, the once proud mercenary, stumbling like a child at the feet of the enemy. A man, handsome in a cruel manner, has seized the Apple. Faster, if only Ezio can run _faster_ , he can reach Mario, save him.

An ornate pistol is torn from the hands of another man, with the snarl, “Give me the gun his friend fashioned for us.” 

_Leonardo?_ Certainly the man had left without a word to anyone, but had Ezio done the artist so wrong that he would work for the enemy out of spite? Or perhaps he was forced to—

—a sharp _crack_ ; Ezio cannot tell if it is the violent report of the gun, Mario’s skull, or his own heart being sundered in two, and he howls in anguish before bullets tear through his—

“Ezio, are you listening?” Machiavelli was shaking him, snapping him back to the present. 

“I…I can hear you, Niccolò,” Ezio replied quietly, meeting his comrade’s eyes, surprised at the concern that registered in Machiavelli’s gaze. He looked to where the other assassin’s stare settled, suddenly conscious of how hard he had been gripping the stone of the nearby building, from the tacky warmth of blood at his fingers.

As the soldiers led Caterina into the fortress, Ezio wondered fleetingly if saving the living would be more rewarding than avenging the dead. Assassins did not live out the idyllic life promised by storybooks, if they were allowed any life at all, but an earthly companion, however temporary, could ease the inevitable end.

Machiavelli must have seen the look in his eyes, as he dug pointedly into Ezio’s shoulder. “Kill Cesare and Rodrigo _first_.”

 

4

 

While neither father nor son had been in the castello, Ezio still managed to rescue Caterina from imprisonment. She was decidedly vocal about how it changed nothing in their relationship, stating in no uncertain terms that she had used him and let him use her, in order to secure the safety of her own homeland.

Had he not been the one taken for a fool, he might even have found it admirable. 

“Ezio,” Caterina asserted again, twitching the rough cloth of his robes as he carried her to safety, “that night, at the villa. I had to ensure our allegiance to protect Forlì. Do you understand?” 

He felt a prickle of annoyance at being spoken to like a child. “Of course,” Ezio replied, offering a thin smile even as he mentally berated himself. _How could I have mistaken what we had for something more?_

A cold awareness emerged; he had deluded himself that night, in the wake of his letdown at the vault, the loss of Leonardo and the negativity he received upon his return. Bile rose to his throat, and he swallowed thickly, quelling it as he did the pain inside him. 

Later, Ezio would feel bitter pleasure at casting her into a pile of hay to break a fall, as she bellowed a stream of invectives at him from below. _Good_ , he thought, resentment coiling deep in his stomach, like a wounded snake.

Let it hurt, as she had hurt _him_.

 

5

 

Caterina left for Forlì with the morning sun, and he watched her ride away, her red hair billowing in the wind, arm lifted triumphantly in the air as she raised the war cry of his Brotherhood. “Victory to the assassins!”

“Victory to the assassins,” Ezio echoed hollowly. He turned away, unable to repress the cynical chuckle that welled to the forefront. _When they have had their fill of me, they leave_ , he thought.

Caterina’s fiery tresses made a sharp contrast to another, more distant memory, of blonde hair imbued with the faint scent of roses, and the thought of Leonardo surfaced, suddenly and unbidden. How like him, to realize what he had when it was too late, to have deserted Leonardo when he had his fill of _him_ , and to have Leonardo abandon him in turn. Ezio could only stand there alone, mouth parted slightly and arms slack by his side, as he mused on the irony of how everyone left him, left him feeling empty and not _victorious_ at all.

 

6

 

From a distance, Ezio observed the orange flames licking lazily at the remnants of the latest Borgia tower he had torched. 

A spiteful sense of triumph had followed his leap of faith from the burning structure, a feeling replaced swiftly by panicked alarm when he spotted several of his novices clustered nearby in awed veneration of his arson. Barely escaping the falling debris, he had herded them to safety and made it scathingly clear that they were not to gather around gawking when there was training to be done.

“Yes, Maestro.” The unanimous response from his novices. Their eyes had shone bright, cheeks flushed like apple blossoms with exhilaration from their first real brush with danger. 

Thankfully, Ezio’s dismay was outweighed by his satisfaction from the splintering collapse of the tower—yet another death knell to the Borgia’s draconian rule over Roma—and he let them off with only the stern reprimand. With his arms crossed over his chest, Ezio allowed the barest hint of a smile, recollecting how his recruits (Allesandro, Emiliana, Piero; all with names, all of them precious) had scampered back to the hideout, reminded of their chance to one day exact their own vengeance against tyranny.

His moment of reprieve faded at the sound of an urgent whisper. 

“Ezio. Over here.”

The timbre and soothing pitch of that voice. It could not be.

A hand fell upon his shoulder, and Ezio turned suspiciously, blade ready to deploy, only to find himself locked in Leonardo’s embrace. His heart leapt to his throat, joy at knowing his friend was alive, the reservations and flare of bitterness

_(give me the gun his friend fashioned for us)_

from Mario’s death slowly dissolving from the arms snug around his shoulders. As he reciprocated the gesture, Ezio reveled in the warmth of the hug, deciding that he would give Leonardo the benefit of the doubt. It was a small comfort to have Leonardo’s familiar weight in his arms again, but the moment was all too brief as his inventor pulled away, darting quick glances to their surroundings. 

Ezio chose not to comment on the skittishness. “It is good to see you. They told me you left the villa without word of where you were going.”

Leonardo gave a short sigh, and Ezio saw at once how haggard and worn he looked.

“Forgive me, Ezio. I only left the villa to gather some supplies from my workshop in Venezia. The Borgia’s men were waiting there, insisting that I leave with them.” He lowered his voice, continuing in a near-whisper. “They would have killed me had I refused.” The apology was evident in his eyes, as he looked up.

Noticing the yellowish-green welt over Leonardo’s cheekbone, Ezio had no doubt of how _insistent_ the Borgia’s soldiers must have been. While it was a relief to know that Leonardo had not left of his own accord, a thin thread of irritation and self-blame rankled within Ezio; his friend had become ensnared in his conflict again, and the assassin had not been there to protect him. Aware of the more urgent issues at hand, however, Ezio filed that thought away for later. “What did they want?”

“War machines.” Leonardo’s eyes flitted toward a nearby rooftop, as he handed over a worn piece of parchment, with hurriedly scrawled schematics and names. “These are the Templars overseeing their construction and their locations. Please, Ezio…you must dismantle them, or many more will die.” There was an odd catch to his voice at the last words.

“You are thinking of Mario,” Ezio said, sudden comprehension dawning upon him.

“I…I am sorry, Ezio.” His face was wrenched with a mixture of pain and guilt, as if he could not believe he had made these monstrosities, that they had been used to kill. Still, Ezio understood his urge to _create_ and vowed to destroy them, if only to lighten Leonardo’s conscience. It was the least he could do, to compensate for being absent when his oldest friend had needed him most.

He clasped the older man’s shoulder, hoping it conveyed forgiveness and reassurance. “Do not worry about the plans and the machines. I will take care of them.”

A taut smile in response. “I have heard of your way of ‘taking care’ of things. Perhaps there is poetic justice in that you use my creations for _you_ to do so.” Leonardo’s gaze fell to Ezio’s mismatched bracers, and he grasped the arm on which his workmanship was absent. “Ezio…where is the other one I fashioned for you?”

“It was lost in the siege. Along with your other inventions,” Ezio said regretfully.

Leonardo traced his fingers thoughtfully over the remaining bladed bracer. “Hmm.” Bringing a finger to his lips, he tapped them as if deep in thought. “I can remake it for you, along with the other improvements. But I must be compensated for the materials.”

Ezio jerked his arm back in surprise, failing to stop the annoyed edge from his voice in time. “They are not paying you at the Vaticano?”

For a moment, Leonardo looked stung, his handsome features lined with hurt. He turned away quickly, his answer curt, precise. “Very little.”

Ashamed at the pettiness he had displayed, Ezio realized he had once again caused a fresh wound, wishing he could take those words back, if Leonardo would just _look_ at him again. He barely caught the end of what Leonardo was saying, about appearing not to meet at all, as he drew a hand pointing to a seat on a scarlet-cloth covered bench.

“The hand points to where you should sit,” Leonardo said stiffly. “So _sit_.” He stood, nervously scanning the immediate area and rooftops for anyone who could see their association, as Ezio complied. While Leonardo had his back turned to him, a niggling thought crept up at the back of Ezio’s mind.

He had been betrayed too many times, lost too much; it would not only disappoint him if Leonardo were to betray him.

It would _break_ him. 

He had to know where the other man’s allegiances lay, promising himself only a quick look with the Vision. _Please, let Leonardo read blue_ , Ezio hoped, though it seemed irrational to do so. He would not register as the color of an ally simply because Ezio wished it.

As he settled into the blurred, drab world of the Vision, he saw the glow of a soothing shade of blue. Ezio sank back in his seat, relieved, tension dissipating despite his dazed _What the hell?_ at the shimmer of gold in the core of Leonardo’s form, bleeding into the blue—

“Ezio?”

His head snapped up quickly at the sound of Leonardo’s voice, his gold-tinted eyes flicking back to brown. As blue eyes bored into his own, the assassin could read indignance and incredulity in the hard, studying stare.

“You…” Leonardo shook his head with a heavy sigh, sitting down beside him, and Ezio wondered if he looked as guilty as he felt.

Even as he leaned in close to discuss his proffered wares, Leonardo’s eyes remained restless, his shoulders rigid. Ezio bit down on his lip, stifling the urge to point out that whispering conspiratorially to a hooded man was not exactly inconspicuous. If only he could say something to alleviate his friend’s worries; the first thought that sprang to mind was what he had wanted to say before leaving the villa for Roma. As Leonardo rose from the stone bench, promising to return shortly, Ezio caught his arm. 

“Wait, Leonardo. I…”

Raucous voices and the clang of metal upon flagstones signaled an approaching sentry, and Leonardo flinched away. “What is it, my friend?” he asked tersely.

Ezio looked up from under his cowl, into his friend’s tired countenance, saw the mauve pockets under his eyes, tension written into all his movements. A confession of any sort would only add to his growing pile of burdens—surviving under the Borgia’s haranguing supervision, slaving away on the war machines, even risking his life to meet with Ezio— besides, Leonardo could not have feelings for him _still_ , after all this time. Even if he did, the assassin’s harrowing experience with the Countess had taught him to err on the side of caution.

“It is nothing.” Ezio let his hands fall to his lap as he released a soft, measured breath. “I will be here when you return.”

He wondered if it was only his imagination that Leonardo’s expression fell slightly, as the artist-turned-engineer nodded and left. When he was out of sight, Ezio mumbled an imprecation, hands sliding under the hood to rake his hair back in frustration.

Impeccable timing, yet _again_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezio discovers that there are consequences to his actions, and the road to redemption is never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere thanks to **kissmytypos** for permission to write the sequel. And many thanks to those of you still following my story! I'm sorry for the wait, and I hope you'll enjoy the chapter.

Chapter Seven. 

 

1

 

Whittling down the Borgia’s forces and renovating Roma’s various guilds took _time_ , a commodity Ezio never felt he had enough of. Despite his self-commitment to Roma’s liberation and his own assassin’s guild, however, he still found enough time to hunt down Leonardo’s war machines and destroy them.

There had been many: mounted guns that spat rapid fire bullets; naval cannons that tore apart bodies and ships alike; an armored tank that moved like a plated turtle but left a rampaging elephant’s path of devastation, and Leonardo’s magnum opus: an improved version of the flying machine, this time equipped with an incendiary cannon to lay aerial waste to the land and keep it aloft. 

The newly designed flying machine had flown only marginally better than Leonardo’s early prototypes in Venezia, and Ezio grimaced to himself, bones still aching from the bomber’s juddering flight. He crept into the shadow of a tower that overlooked the bench where he was to meet with his old friend. A guard meandered by, barely giving the chalk-scrawled hand on it another look, and Ezio slipped out to the bench when he was sure the guard had gone. Leonardo joined him moments later, his expression strained even as the assassin murmured a quick greeting. 

“What is on your mind, Leonardo?” _He looks so gaunt_ , Ezio thought unhappily. He leaned forward to rest elbows upon his knees, sparing the Borgia’s engineer a discreet glance.

“I have _many_ things on my mind,” the engineer snapped. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply before attempting to respond again. “The Borgia have not taken kindly to the destruction of their war machines.” Leonardo’s frame sagged forward in resignation. “Tell me, Ezio. Are they all…?”

“Destroyed. Forgive me, Leonardo. All your hard work has been undone.” Ezio gave him an apologetic pat on the arm.

“Better scattered across the land than in the hands of men,” Leonardo sighed. He sat up, rolling his shoulders back in relief, as though waking from a long nightmare. “Thank goodness.”

“You should thank _me_ ,” Ezio grinned. “Your scroll did not even include instructions for the tank. It took more time to figure out how to run that machine than destroy it.”

With a quick shadow of a smile, Leonardo folded his hands together on his lap. “If anyone could do it, I knew it would be you, old friend.”

At the spark of Leonardo’s old vivacity, a hard tug of longing pulled at Ezio’s heart. He reached out to brush Leonardo’s hand, before stopping abruptly. They could not afford easy displays of their rapport as they had in Venezia, the city with its bittersweet memory of his only intimacy with Leonardo. 

Meanwhile, the engineer’s smile faded, as if he had remembered something unpleasant. Ezio shifted closer to him, confused. “There is something else on your mind. What is it?”

“You are mistaken.” Leonardo blinked, his face devoid of expression in a clear attempt to mask his emotions. When Ezio made no move to leave, he tried to smile disarmingly, despite the pain edging into his features. “Ezio, I am _fine_.”

“Do not pretend, Leonardo. Tell me.” Anxiety churned in Ezio’s stomach. Was the inventor planning to tell him he could no longer meet with the assassin to provide aid? Or was there far graver news than that? They sat together in the shade of an old, crumbling tower, Ezio wishing he could offer reassurance or comfort through something as simple as holding Leonardo in his arms. But the Borgia’s guards crawled the streets, their patrols ever on the alert for obvious signs of the vigilante assassin or their wayward engineer. The assassin could only wait.

Finally, Leonardo let out a slow breath. “I heard you were behind the break-in at Sant’ Angelo,” he said warily. His air of disappointment sounded akin to jealousy.

It was only when pins and needles of feeling returned to numb fingers that Ezio realized how tightly his fists had been clenched. He flexed his stiff digits in relief, wondering why Leonardo would bring this up now. The assassin had infiltrated the castello to exact his revenge on Cesare and Rodrigo, and though neither murderer was there, he had rescued Caterina…

 _Ah_. 

And left his closest ally imprisoned, at the Borgia’s beck and call, helplessly watching as the assassin abandoned him again. Suddenly the hint of jealousy made sense, and Ezio swore inwardly at his folly.

“Had I known you were there, I would have…” Ezio paused. A more proactive approach was needed. “I will come for you, my friend. Just tell me where they are imprisoning you now.” 

The offer seemed to soften the hardness from Leonardo’s eyes, as if he had only needed to hear the words from Ezio, and the engineer said nothing for a moment. Slowly, a gentle, more genuine smile rose to his face. “Grazie, Ezio.” He rested his hand on the assassin’s shoulder, seemingly conflicted with what he wanted to say next. “But I can take care of myself.”

 _A fine job you’ve been doing_ , thought Ezio, almost resentfully. He hated to see Leonardo’s worn visage, the worried lines in his forehead and the bags under his eyes. If it were up to Ezio, he would spirit the man away _now_. Conversely, the fact that Leonardo still lived was a testament to his own will to endure; had he not been able to ‘take care of himself’, the Borgia would have long disposed of him. 

_Perhaps I should have more faith in Leonardo_ , Ezio resolved, attempting a weak smile in return.

“Besides,” Leonardo added, “I will be of more use to you from inside the Borgia camp, especially if they plan to produce more weapons or discuss military strategies. Your efforts are better focused on liberating the people of Roma first. Perhaps then…”

“Then?”

The engineer watched him carefully, his expression guardedly neutral as he stood up. “They are expecting me back at the castello.”

“Which area?” asked Ezio, his tone sharper than intended.

A soft, quiet laugh, as Leonardo shook his head. “Good luck, Ezio,” he said, deflecting the clumsy attempt to fish for his whereabouts. Leonardo stepped away briskly, ascending a short stairway before disappearing around a corner. Within moments, his red cape and beret were no more than a fading mirage. 

Ezio watched his friend depart, a slow, insistent ache stealing into his chest as a realization struck him: Leonardo’s stressed smiles were a far cry from the dreamy quality they held not so long ago in Venezia, but those days were gone, replaced by Roma’s bleak and unforgiving present.

 

2

 

“I hope,” Machiavelli began, standing resolutely in front of Ezio’s desk, “that you are not _still_ entertaining thoughts of rescuing Leonardo. He has told you himself that he is willing to stay to help us spy on the Borgia.” Machiavelli had initially entered to discuss changes to the novices’ daily regimen. From his offhand comment, however, Ezio supposed he had done a poor job of hiding his distracted thoughts. 

“It is too dangerous for him to stay there,” Ezio replied, not bothering to look up from the ledger he was reviewing. He tapped his quill impatiently against the parchment; reading by candlelight was already difficult enough without having to field Machiavelli’s scathing remarks.

“Perhaps I should remind you that you still have a Brotherhood to run. And several of our novices were lost in the attack at—”

“I _know_ ,” snapped Ezio irritably. “I recruited them myself.” His grief over the new assassins was still agonizingly recent. And if those under his wing had been lost, then what of the man who worked deep within the enemy fortress? 

The sigh in response was almost disdainful. “I cannot see why you concern yourself with that man. It is true that he has uncanny insight into designing weaponry, but—”

Ezio set his quill down forcefully, throwing a menacing glare at Machiavelli to let him know he was treading on thin ice. “We need him.”

Machiavelli’s mouth fell open in surprise at Ezio’s edged reply, but he recovered quickly. Setting his lips into a thin line, he narrowed his eyes as if he had experienced a moment of clarity. “ _You_ need him.”

“What are you implying?” Ezio asked slowly. That his comrade could openly voice what he himself could not was irksome, and he searched the other assassin’s face for signs of mockery or contempt.

Machiavelli’s face remained as impassive as ever. “I imply nothing,” he said, turning to leave the room. Before disappearing into an adjacent chamber, he added, “Do what you will. But do not compromise the Brotherhood with your own goals.”

 

3

 

Ezio’s meetings with Leonardo now were brief, clandestine affairs, their conversations shrouded in secrecy.

Afterward, Leonardo would leave for his workshop in the Borgia’s stronghold, and though it pained Ezio every time they parted, he did nothing. In truth, while he had offered to free Leonardo from his fetters to the Spaniards, Ezio was unsure if he had the time or resources to do so and was certain Leonardo knew it too.

He had assassins to recruit and a Brotherhood to build, after all. And his pride forbade that he allow Machiavelli to take complete command.

Still, the mountain of tasks could not deter Ezio from wondering why Leonardo continued risking life and limb to see him. Was it was out of a sense of obligation? A way for the engineer to help liberate Roma by equipping the most capable person he knew? Or were there other reasons for their continued association? 

Inevitably, Ezio would brood over the same, gnawing thought: whether Leonardo’s actions meant the assassin still had a place in his heart.

Ever since the destruction of the war machines and Ezio’s offer to free him, Leonardo’s behavior had gradually begun to mirror that of their days before Roma. He would shoot frequent, momentary glances Ezio’s way and even sidle close to the assassin, sometimes near enough for their fingers to brush. On other occasions, his hand would rest lightly on Ezio’s back or shoulder, before being quickly withdrawn. These mannerisms fanned the tiny flame of hope within Ezio’s heart, and often, he wished he could reach out, to touch—but feared the contact would leave him wanting _more_. So he followed the path he knew best: that of inaction.

While Leonardo used to disappear without looking back, he now cast lingering glances toward the assassin when he left. Despite his concern that this would lead to his friend’s demise, Ezio often felt a familiar pang of longing in response, which did nothing to help his plight.

Then again, perhaps he was reading too much into Leonardo’s absentminded habits, and all Ezio had were illusory hopes born of wishful thinking.

 

4

 

“What is it that troubles you, Ezio?”

It might have been the heaviness in the assassin’s voice or the tense posture of his shoulders, but it hardly surprised him that Leonardo could sense his discomfort. The man had always been attuned to his moods somehow. 

“The other night, Niccolò appointed me to the position of the Mentore. Just after Claudia’s initiation into the Order.” Ezio clasped his hands under his chin as he shifted his weight forward on the bench. “I…I am not sure I can handle the responsibility that comes with that position.” 

He felt a brief pat on his back, and turned in time to see Leonardo’s quick, tired smile. “I know of no other man who has risen to the challenges life throws him, conquering them with his own brand of resilience, as you have.” Leonardo paused, before quietly adding, “I am sure you are the right leader for the Order, Ezio.”

His self-doubt momentarily dispelled, Ezio gave a soft laugh. “Only time will tell that, Leonardo. I only wish you had been there for the ceremony.” He stopped, realizing the cruelty of his words. At the same time he had ascended to the rank of Mentore, warmed by the heat of the crackling brazier and the presence of his peers, Leonardo had been absent, still captive under the Borgia’s oppressive employ.

Leonardo seemed not to have taken offense, opting instead to lean forward and press close to the assassin, as if to share a momentous secret. “Ezio.” 

The strength and surety in his voice made the assassin look up in surprise.

“Such moments will be ours, once you rid Roma of the Borgia’s influence. And if anyone can do it, it is _you_.” 

The forces and power of Roma’s ruling family had been dwindling steadily due to the efforts of _all_ the assassins of his Brotherhood. Nevertheless, Ezio was moved, humbled even, by the implicit faith Leonardo had in him alone. “Grazie, my friend,” he said, gripping Leonardo’s shoulder gratefully as he stood to leave. Those warm words of encouragement heartened the assassin in a way that nothing else could.

Later, as Ezio rode hard to the Basilica di San Pietro in a race to snatch the Apple from the Borgia’s grasp, those words and the feeling he garnered from them would strike him again. From this simple feeling Leonardo induced, of being able to accomplish anything, Ezio finally knew.

Knew he wanted Leonardo, by his side.

But after all that had happened—the lie he had lived in Venezia and all but abandoning Leonardo in Roma—Ezio knew he had no right. No right to barge back into his friend’s life, to demand his attentions and affection.

Not when _he_ was the one who had turned Leonardo away.

 

5

 

With the Apple safely hidden in a pouch on his waist, Ezio leaped a little less heavily across the rooftops. Adding to his improved mood was the fact that Rodrigo, the instigator of the plot behind his family’s execution, was dead, and Cesare, ill with poison of his father’s design, had fled Roma for the safety of his allies. The young Captain General worried more for the state of his health and troops than the location of his engineer, with his power and position at stake. 

Ezio was free to visit his artist now, with less fear of endangering him. Ever since Leonardo’s emancipation, the assassin had come to think of him as an artist again, instead of the engineer he had been coerced into being.

His expression relaxed into a smile at the thought of Leonardo, as he dropped down to a small terrace. When Ezio saw him now, it was as if a great burden had been lifted from the artist’s shoulders; his face was no longer clouded with constant worry, eyes no longer darting everywhere from paranoia. Just as Roma had been liberated from nearly all of the Borgia’s influence, so too had the haunted look been erased from Leonardo’s features.

Ezio’s thoughts were interrupted by the shatter of glass and a broken shout that rang out up ahead. The voice sounded so much like the artist he was to meet with that he scanned the area below for the source of the outburst.

“Not a woman, but you’ll do,” came a harsh bark of laughter. 

“Looks like your assassin friend is not here to save you.” Another voice, cruel and jeering. 

Ezio froze as he spotted the source of the noise. Three guards, one carrying a flag emblazoned with the Borgia’s red bull, had surrounded Leonardo in a secluded alleyway. His satchel of scrolls and supplies had been dashed to the ground, and broken vials and brushes littered the stones. A tight flicker of anger rose to Ezio’s face as a guard slammed Leonardo against a wall, but when another stepped forward to tear at his collar with what was clearly lustful intent, the flicker burst into flame.

Leonardo was _his_.

His paralysis broken by the anger that heated his face, Ezio raced across the wooden beams, wondering when he had grown possessive of Leonardo. He shook his head quickly to dispel the thought; he was not being possessive, only protective.

The flaunting of the fallen family’s insignia suggested that the guards were only common thugs masquerading as Borgia soldiers. Regardless, two of them tore viciously at Leonardo’s clothes while another reached out to cup the artist’s face and lick it in a lecherous manner. Leonardo thrashed about, his flailing fists connecting with flesh, and in the short moment he was free, he ran. 

He made one, two, _three_ steps—before a guard tackled him to the ground, twisting his arm behind his back and drawing a thin line of blood with a dagger to his throat. Now within range, Ezio leapt down from his ledge, a flurry of white robes and uncloaked animal fury, like a bird of prey fighting another predator for its prize. 

_Red._

Red was the enemy, in the Vision that Ezio had activated; red for the rage that boiled inside him, and red was the lifeblood that sprayed across his face as he slashed open the throat of the guard restraining Leonardo. Another guard suffered a brutal kick to the groin, followed by a quick, jabbing strike that tore through his bowels. As more blood spattered on the assassin’s face, he tasted iron, the vilely rich liquid coloring his robes as screams rent the air, of the dying, the fearful. 

A panicked trampling of boots caught his attention, and the assassin’s gaze snapped upward. The last guard was running away, shedding his armor as he went. So it was true: the thugs had only donned the soldiers’ garb in order to extort favors and incite fear in the general populace. Ezio seized one of the spears they had been wielding, reared his arm back and let it fly, relishing the piercing scream that issued as the spear found its mark. 

He turned quickly, searching for Leonardo. He had to have arrived in time—they could not have gotten to him, could not have killed him because he refused to comply. Everything Ezio had done until now would have been for naught, so Leonardo could not die, could not be dead—

“Ezio.” A hand was shaking his shoulder. “Ezio!” 

Still keen with an assassin’s instinct for danger, Ezio sprang toward the sound, his blade sweeping down in a deadly arc, stopping just short 

_(Leonardo, the blue is Leonardo, but for that glimmer of gold)_

of the perimeter of a soft, blue glow. Visibly shaken at how close he had been to death, Leonardo hesitated for a moment, before wrapping his arms around Ezio’s shoulders, pulling him into a comforting hug even as the assassin stumbled against him. Ezio wound his hands over Leonardo’s ears, into his hair, then slid them to his shoulders, gripping tightly as he held the artist at less than arm’s length. Their foreheads were close enough to touch, and as he felt the warmth of Leonardo’s breath upon his cheek, Ezio breathed out in a rush of relief. He wanted to hold Leonardo, to kiss and mark him as his own, and secret him away to a place where no one could touch him, but…

His friend did not deserve to be caged like that.

“Ezio?” Concern, worry. All in that one word. 

“Leonardo.” For a moment, his voice caught in his throat. “I cannot lose you, Leonardo,” Ezio said forcefully, the raw honesty in his words surprising him. “Do you understand?”

Even as he nodded, Leonardo’s expression was a mixture of shock, confusion, and even fear, but Ezio hardly cared. All that mattered was that Leonardo was safe—from harm, from guards and even from Templars. It was only when the artist slid his arms around Ezio’s shoulders again, murmuring soft, soothing words to calm him that Ezio recognized the most prominent threat was _himself_. 

Still, he drew Leonardo in desperately, arms closing tight around the lithe waist. He would allow himself this one instant of selfishness. 

Ezio breathed deep, inhaling the comforting scent of oil paints, and enveloped in the long-missed warmth of Leonardo’s arms, pulse slowing, he realized what the flash of gold he had seen in the Vision meant.

That his target had always been Leonardo’s heart.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezio discovers that there are consequences to his actions, and the road to redemption is never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story continues on from **kissmytypos’** fic, “Good Intentions”, which can be read [here](http://kissmytypos.livejournal.com/857.html).
> 
> My sincere thanks to **kissmytypos** for permission to write the sequel. Thank you to those of you still following my story!

Chapter Eight.

1

“Ah, sorry, I’ve...gotten carried away.”

The quick, mumbled apology was all the warning Leonardo had before the assassin broke their embrace and stalked forward silently. Leonardo had bitten back a startled cry at the loss, though he supposed Ezio’s return to stoicism was understandable. 

_After all,_ the artist reflected solemnly, _it is rather unlike him to display such a range of emotion all at once._

He sighed as Ezio turned and nodded toward him, expecting him to follow. When he moved to match Ezio’s easy, unlabored strides, the assassin strode several large steps ahead, distance enough to leave Leonardo with his thoughts.

In Venezia, Leonardo had kept his ear to the ground for news of the assassin, even seeking out local heralds or rumor mills, anything to substantiate the assassin’s continued existence or death. Meanwhile, the thieves had encouraged him to find and speak to Ezio himself, but the man had an uncanny ability to disappear when he did not want to be found. Despite _all_ of that, Ezio’s actions prior to departing for Roma had given Leonardo reason to hope. Then Cesare Borgia had gone to Monteriggioni, with his siege machines and destructive nature that only ever wrought more death and suffering. Ezio’s subsequent efforts in building the assassin’s guild and undermining Borgia control evaporated any hopes Leonardo had of proper reconciliation. 

Life happened. Priorities changed. And damn it, Leonardo _knew_ , but that never made things easier to accept. 

Just now, however, the assassin’s daring rescue had roused a shock of adrenaline in him. As it coursed hotly through his blood, Leonardo wondered if it was the sense of gratitude that left him breathless, or how fluid and dashing Ezio had looked while dispatching the guards. 

That Ezio could turn into another person, a _killer_ , for his sake was both flattering and a touch frightening. 

Leonardo frowned, suddenly aware of the elbow cradled indistinctly to the assassin’s side. An injured shoulder, then. The similar way in which Ezio concealed his aches, pains, and motives, as if verbalization forced acknowledgment, had not escaped his attention. It was how the artist had caught the trace of a lie when Ezio said he did not care for him that way. From all the time he had had to think, what people had told him, and the things his closest friend had tried to hide, Leonardo had come to a simple conclusion: that Ezio did care for him, perhaps even loved him in his own way, but—

His face flushed as he quashed those thoughts. _Friends,_ Ezio had promised, _until the end,_ and Leonardo had no intention of breaking the promise that kept the fragile peace between them.

“Leonardo.” 

The artist looked up in time to avoid colliding with Ezio, noting that they had stopped at his marked bench in the north of the Campagna district. Partially obscured by a large tree, it overlooked Roma’s picturesque countryside, all sprawling green pastures and plateaued cliffs. The chalk-scrawled hand on the bench itself had become a secret code between them, and though there was no longer need for the subterfuge, Leonardo’s practice of marking their rendezvous points stayed.

“You have not said a word all this time,” Ezio observed, as they settled on the bench. His eyes wandered to the thin cut at Leonardo’s throat. “Are you all right?” 

“Oh, yes.” Leonardo tugged what remained of his collar upward, hiding the injury, and offered a distracted smile. “I was just thinking of one of my paintings. A small portrait of a woman,” he said absently, but not without a touch of fondness. He edged closer to Ezio. Though the assassin eyed him warily, he said nothing about their proximity.

As if Leonardo could think of anything, any _one_ else in his presence. Ezio had rekindled his hopes in Monteriggioni and during their reunion in Roma, but despite going out of his way to destroy the war machines and offering to free Leonardo, Ezio had since maintained a careful distance: he touched no more than necessary, returning only hugs that Leonardo initiated. The artist had resigned himself to the fact that he would never have Ezio, and contented himself with minor touches and glances. Curiously enough, Ezio had not shrunk away from them as he thought he would. And that hug just now…

“You were just attacked and already your mind has wandered to a painting?” Ezio’s palm rose to his forehead, a gesture of exasperation. “Your head is in the clouds as always, my friend. At least be a _little_ more aware of your surroundings.”

Amused by his concern, Leonardo suppressed the urge to inform Ezio it was precisely this ‘head in the clouds’ that had fashioned most of his arsenal. “My oldest friend is here to watch over me now,” he answered deftly, a slow smile surfacing. “Perhaps I can afford to have my head in the clouds for a little longer, in your presence.”

Ezio seemed satisfied enough with the response, but his brow twitched as if he were still mulling over Leonardo’s previous statement. “Perhaps,” he began, “but do not let a beautiful girl distract you from my constructing my designs.”

It took all of Leonardo’s willpower to keep his smile in place, and as his pulse leapt, he wondered if he had sensed _jealousy_ emanating from the assassin. No—it had to have been wishful thinking on his part, and Leonardo dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come. Nevertheless, emboldened by the relief that he no longer toiled for the Borgia and the vestiges of adrenaline from earlier, he patted Ezio on the back. “Have no worries,” he chuckled. “Women provide little distraction.” 

The man beside him was distraction enough. 

“Wait…I don’t get it.” Ezio pulled away, his mouth slightly parted before it closed again, as though he deliberated a response that would not come. From his reaction, Leonardo was struck with the distinct, familiar feeling that Ezio had wanted to say something different, but chose to hide his true thoughts instead.

Leonardo withdrew his hand awkwardly, focusing his attentions on a canvassed stand nearby to hide his shamed flush. When he felt it sufficiently hidden, he shot a discreet glance back at Ezio, but the assassin was already rising to his feet. 

“I must go, Leonardo.” His expression was nearly unreadable, but the artist recognized enough of Ezio’s facial nuances—the slight knit between his brows, minute depression at the corner of his mouth—to know he was troubled.

Leonardo managed a weak smile and folded his hands in his lap. “I will be in the area for a little while longer if you change your mind,” he said, as if Ezio had only turned down his inventions, and not the inventor himself. 

His lip curled as he watched Ezio vanish into the streets, blending naturally into the bustling crowds of the district. At least no one could blame him for not trying. Leonardo turned back to the vista of Roma’s cliffs and countryside with eyes narrowed, annoyed at his momentary lapse of judgment. What could have possessed him to say that? Of course Ezio would be bothered by it, by that and any reminder of what they had once shared. Ezio, who wanted to pretend that night during Carnivale had meant nothing, had never happened, and who had the _audacity_ to look unashamed when he had been found out.

Suddenly, a voice spoke from behind him, the words barely above a whisper. “You cannot want me _still_.” Puzzlement and wonder colored the speaker’s tone, as heat from his breath drifted across the nape of Leonardo’s neck. “After all this time?”

Startled, but not surprised—assassins made a living out of stealth and discretion, after all—Leonardo turned to face him, with a raised a brow. “Who is to say what I want or do not want?” he replied, the ghost of a mirthful smile on his lips. At Ezio’s stunned expression, Leonardo chuckled. “You need not fear, Ezio. I spoke that only in jest.”

Something in Ezio’s face seemed to crumble at that, and he settled back on the bench, catching Leonardo’s wrist as the artist rose from his seat. “I wish you would stay.”

Leonardo had been searching for a way to quickly excuse himself, but at Ezio’s imploring tone, he stopped. “I…I suppose I could. There is some time before I need to meet a patron for a commission.” Only recently free of the Borgia’s grasp, he had not had time to take on new patrons, but there was no need to seem _too_ available. He made a show of seeking out a nearby water clock.

“I did not mean for the moment. I meant for always.”

The artist swallowed forcibly, his throat inexplicably constricted. Surely Ezio could not mean…He drew in a soft breath, convinced that he was reading too much into this, hoping for more than was possible, and had only misinterpreted the assassin’s words.

“I cannot lose you as well, Leonardo,” Ezio continued quietly, tugging him back to the bench. His tone remained heavy, as if the pain from other losses bore down on him.

“Yes, you said that before,” Leonardo replied, surprised by Ezio’s honesty. The poorly veiled anguish in the assassin’s voice made him wonder how many countless others Ezio had lost. He knew of the father, brothers, and uncle lost to the Borgia’s schemes, but what of comrades and apprentices, cut down before their time?

At the insistent grip on his wrist, Leonardo relented, taking a seat on the chiseled stone. His fingers stole across the cool bench, finding warmth as they rested lightly on Ezio’s hand. “You will not lose me,” he assured the assassin. If being Ezio’s friend would allow him to stay by his side, then friend he would be, until the end, echoing Ezio’s sentiment all those years ago. 

Ezio stared mutely at the hand covering his, as if distressed by this first intimate touch from Leonardo in a long while. Certain that he had now overstepped their unspoken boundary, Leonardo cursed silently and drew his hand back, when suddenly, he found it trapped under the assassin’s, pinned to the bench as Ezio’s mouth met his, softly, clumsily. For a bewildered moment that seemed an eternity, the artist remained motionless, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Then, immensely grateful for the fact that their bench was semi-secluded, away from the prying eyes of passerby and remnant Borgia soldiers, Leonardo leaned desperately into the kiss, having wanted this, wanted Ezio, for so _long_ —

“Wait.” He gripped the assassin by the shoulders and pushed him back, hesitant. “Ezio, _wait_.” 

“What…what is it?” Ezio’s tongue darted out nervously to wet his lips. 

Leonardo could only stare at him, slack-jawed, at this development. Words failed him, despite his frantic search for a response. He could only think of how much simpler it would be to let the burden remain on Ezio to explain. Sure enough, at his silence, Ezio spoke again, groping blindly in hopes of lighting upon the reason behind Leonardo’s reluctance.

“For all that has happened between us…I am sorry.” There was no need to elaborate; it was evident what event in their history he referred to. 

Caught off guard by the apology, Leonardo studied the citizens ambulating about in the expanse of fields below, before risking a cautious glance at Ezio. Part of him wanted to reassure his friend that he had forgiven him, forgotten it long ago, but the pain that still haunted him would render that a lie.

The apology was a start at least, a segue into catharsis for the pain he had carried for so long. He waited to see what else Ezio had to say first. 

“There were others,” continued Ezio slowly, carefully. “But you…”

At the word ‘others’, a new awareness dawned on Leonardo. “No,” he breathed, hoarse and disbelieving. “Do not do this to me. Not now, after all these years.” He knew it had been too good to be true, too convenient. Yes, he had wanted Ezio, but for the assassin’s attentions to come only _now_ meant—

“Leonardo. You do not understand, I—”

“Oh, I understand,” Leonardo insisted brittlely, unable to keep the tinge of resentment from his voice. “Perhaps you are between lovers, or simply lonely, with none to clasp to your side. But I will not be a…a _stand-in_ for your women.” He took a thin, shaky breath. “The string of broken hearts you have left across Italia will not include mine, Ezio.” _Not for a second time, at any rate._ It struck a sorrowful chord within him that the assassin was willing to cheapen their relationship like this, treating him no differently than the scores of women that had clustered to his side. 

Meanwhile, the furrow between Ezio’s eyebrows had deepened, obvious anger at Leonardo’s presumption. Ezio reached toward him slowly but when Leonardo flinched away, the assassin grabbed his wrists, crowding him to the edge of the bench. “Look at me,” he demanded. “It is not _like_ that.”

Leonardo refused to comply, staring instead at a fissure in the cobbled road. “No more, Ezio. Not another word, before what there _is_ between us becomes irreparable.” He sighed, aware of how weary the gesture made him sound, and shook his head. “I have seen, Ezio, if not heard, of your conquests. But I have waited. Perhaps for you to look at me again as you once did. And not just as a passing fancy, but as someone who…” He trailed off and stared hard at the wrists that remained in Ezio’s grip, unsure of whether he hated the tremor in his voice or his hands more.

“I think,” said Ezio after a moment, “that you have been observing me for longer than even _I_ have known.”

Leonardo could only smile wryly, ashamed that his admission had revealed more than he wished. “You _think_?” 

Ezio drew in a slow, measured breath. “There were others,” he began again, his hold on Leonardo tightening like an eagle’s claws closing dangerously around its quarry. “But…no longer.”

“No longer?” Leonardo echoed stiffly, contemplative. He had heard mention of the tragic fate that befell Ezio’s first love from Firenze, a falling out between Ezio and the female thief of Venezia, and of the Lady Sforza leaving to her own lands. Still, a leaden lump of jealousy formed in the pit of his stomach at the thought of them.

Ezio nodded, his voice catching in his throat as half-lidded eyes rose to meet Leonardo’s earnestly. “There is only _you_.” He swallowed audibly, relaxing his grip on the artist’s wrists. “If you will still have me.”

“I…” Leonardo dropped his gaze toward the assassin’s flared collar. “I don’t know, Ezio.” He could not be sure that the glimmer of light offered to him outweighed the risk of being taken for a fool, time and time again.

“Please, Leonardo,” Ezio said, his breath hitching slightly. He had released the artist’s hands and drawn back, waiting cautiously as one would with a skittish animal. “You are all I have wanted. All these years.”

Leonardo blinked. A hazy assortment of memories was floating back to him, fitting together like fragments of an old dream, long forgotten: the repressed confessions and awkward near-touches that had kept him guessing, hoping; the crushing hugs at times most desperate that conveyed feelings the assassin had not voiced until today. 

_I cannot lose you._

_I need you._

As if Ezio had been constantly struggling to hold back, until now. Suddenly, Leonardo felt himself an even bigger fool for missing these signs when they had been there all along; missed, or even willfully forgotten them, to shield himself from further harm. _Who is the desperate one_ now _?_ he wondered, with a small measure of spite. _He_ had begged Ezio in Venezia, pleaded with him, and still his pleas had fallen on deaf ears. 

There was a long silence as they stared at each other, either of them able to make the connection if they just dared to take the plunge.

Ezio made it first, reaching out to place his hand lightly on Leonardo’s arm. “Please.”

For a moment, Leonardo considered denying the absolution Ezio so earnestly sought, for all the lost opportunities and the potential of the years between them wasted. But he found he could never deny the assassin—not when those brown eyes implored him so. Leonardo swallowed, forcing down the knot of emotion that had swelled to his throat, and closed his eyes.

He would take this chance.

“All right.” A faint hope that he would not regret his decision. “All right, Ezio.”

Speechless for a moment, Ezio recovered with his quick, characteristic grin. In a voice soothing and low, he said, “Then, if we are to do this right…”

Leonardo winced. Those words again. Did Ezio not know how much they had stung the first time, when he had offered his thoughtless promise to remain friends? Or was he simply unwilling to see—

“…Let us take this conversation somewhere more appropriate,” Ezio finished, robes falling effortlessly into place as he rose from the bench. Leonardo followed suit, stretching the inactivity from his joints, recalling how they had ‘taken their conversation elsewhere’ that first instance after Ezio’s bold alleyway kiss. His musings that the ardor of their youth had been replaced by a slower burn of desire were interrupted, however, at the warm, callused fingers closing around his wrist.

“Not to another brothel, I hope,” Leonardo quipped, as Ezio led him away from their shaded viewpoint. Surely he deserved better than to be taken in some bordello adorned with illusions of decadence, while surrounded by the cloying smell of cheap perfume and filthy desire. If that was what Ezio intended at all.

Ezio had the decency to look embarrassed before giving him an encouraging smile. “No, I have somewhere different in mind.” He paused. “Things will be different this time, Leonardo. You will see.”

 

2

 

It was hardly a mystery where Ezio planned to lead him, given the quiet confidence he exuded.

For the most part, Leonardo was content to let himself be guided along by Ezio’s subtle touches and pushes, the occasional hand at the small of his back. Roma’s abundant populace and broad daylight afforded little opportunity for the assassin to take his hand, but as they neared the hideout, Ezio’s fingers threaded boldly through Leonardo’s once more. 

By the time they reached Isola Tiberina, the sky had darkened, slipping quietly toward dusk without Leonardo’s notice. The entrance to the hideout was inconspicuous enough, requiring several confusing turns and Ezio’s gentle navigational assistance, but when they entered the building itself, his jaw dropped at the grandeur overlaying the grey masonry. Green and red checkered tapestries adorned the simple stonework, while crimson banners ornamented with golden trim and the assassins’ crest hung from the ceiling. Several corners of the hideout housed bookcases laden with numerous texts, and from where he stood, Leonardo could spot a gallery of his contemporaries’ paintings.

“Impressive,” he managed to breathe, though as soon as the word left him, Leonardo knew he had meant _beautiful_. He was not given the time to dwell on this, however, as Ezio tugged him toward a smaller chamber to the left. It was warmed by the heat of a crackling hearth, and despite the striking display of armor in the room, another exhibit demanded his attention.

“Ezio, what _is_ all this?” he asked, astonished. Miniature replicas of the war machines he had created for the Borgia rested on gilded pedestals, and he looked toward Ezio for explanation. 

He was met with a proud grin. “A tribute to your genius,” Ezio said, making a grand sweeping motion at them. “In light of the fact that we could not keep the actual models.”

Flattered at how Ezio had erected small monuments of his creations despite the destruction they might have caused, Leonardo beamed. “At least in this form, they can do no harm.”

“Indeed.” Ezio threw a dark look toward the flying machine model before returning Leonardo’s smile. “But enough of the machines for now. Come, Leonardo,” he said, steering him toward another corner of the hideout. “There are some recruits I want you to meet.”

A group of novices conversed near a desk stacked with ledgers, and Ezio introduced him to several of the ones who did not know who he was already. Leonardo could only nod and smile in response to their respectful bows and murmurs of “Maestro”, feeling a little out of place amid the white-cloaked assassins. Still, he appreciated Ezio’s efforts to welcome him into his home, his life, and the people who were part of it. When Ezio eventually fell to discussing mission specifics with his recruits, Leonardo found himself wandering toward the bookshelves, eager to examine the various texts in the hideout. As he neared a shelf in the main hall, he caught the tail end of a hushed conversation between a recruit and Machiavelli, a man he knew to be Ezio’s ally. 

“—that our mercenaries were found murdered in the Campagna district. It was the work of the Mentore…Shall I arrange for another group?” 

Machiavelli turned from the bookcase to receive the report, a look of genuine surprise and sorrow on his face before he met the artist’s stare over the recruit’s shoulder. Eyes widening at the contact, Leonardo dropped his gaze instantly, but it was too late. “That will not be necessary,” Machiavelli replied, dismissing the recruit with a minute wave of his hand.

Despite the futility of it, Leonardo made an attempt to sneak away before the assassin leader could call him back. 

“Leonardo.” 

The artist bristled at the voice. It was composed and aloof, with none of Ezio’s warm affection. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit today? A chance to study the Apple, I suppose?” Machiavelli had stepped briskly toward Leonardo, arms held loosely behind his back. “Or has Ezio commissioned you for a painting to add to our gallery?”

“Ezio invited me here to…” Leonardo faltered, the pretenses he had prepared in defense shriveling beneath the assassin’s intense gaze. “To—”

“He is here for _me_ , Niccolò,” Ezio cut in, suddenly at Leonardo’s side. “ _With_ me,” he frowned, correcting himself, as he took Leonardo by the hand and herded him away from any other snide remarks Machiavelli might have had. If the other assassin noticed the slip or the intimate action, he said nothing.

Leading him up a stairway, Ezio gave Leonardo’s hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Do not let him intimidate you. He means well.”

“Really. I could not tell,” Leonardo replied dryly. He had _known_ there was something suspicious about the showy and unwarranted assault from remnants of the Borgia’s guards. The furtiveness of the conversation he overheard only proved Ezio’s unawareness of the attack’s orchestrated nature, and he was sure Ezio was not one to expend the lives of innocents for the sake of staging a rescue. While not exactly a man of God, Leonardo said a silent prayer for the souls of those the assassin had killed in his defense.

At his lukewarm reception of the idea that Machiavelli could speak in their favor, Ezio laughed. “Niccolò was the one who stated a truth about you that I had trouble accepting.”

“What was it?” Leonardo asked, with a small sense of dread. The subtly manipulative assassin was one to be wary of, but _now_ , he decided, he would focus on Ezio. 

“That I…” Ezio’s face colored slightly and he turned away with a sheepish grin. “That…is a story for another time.” 

_How curious._ The assassin’s bashful expression had certainly sparked Leonardo’s interest, though he determined he could better coax the truth from Ezio another time.

Ezio cleared his throat, changing the subject quickly, and Leonardo heard something about him moving his studio and supplies into Isola Tiberina. How the plan was to put aside some rooms for him to work, so he could have the space he needed while being well protected. The artist could only nod; this was all happening so quickly, and he was still amazed at Ezio’s demands to make his presence permanent. It was clear that Ezio worried for his safety, considering the recent—however cunningly devised—attempt on his life, and it made sense to move his studio into a place that was well guarded by assassins. Leonardo supposed he could figure out the logistics of explaining the move to his own apprentices later, or meet them elsewhere. 

The last thing he wanted was to compromise the location of Ezio and his comrades.

“Well?” Ezio had stopped within a narrow hallway, where small maroon banners decorated the walls, punctuated by ornately carved candelabra that emitted the upper level’s soft, glowing ambience. “Would that be agreeable to you? Staying here, that is.”

“What—oh, yes. That sounds wonderful.” Leonardo covered his stumble quickly with a smile, flustered and unused to Ezio asking what _he_ wanted. 

“Then,” Ezio nodded, his voice pitched low and Leonardo could swear _inviting_ , “let me show you to our room.” 

_‘Our’ room?_ The possessive had been said so casually that Leonardo nearly missed it, but his heart beat faster for it, just the same. When Ezio opened the door to a small chamber, Leonardo caught sight of a simple bed with a night table, several chairs atop a worn, red area rug against the wall, and a bay window, the center of which was a pane of faded stained glass, overlooking the river and the Ponte Emilio that spanned it. 

Leonardo was surprised the room was not more ornate, considering Ezio’s tastes and previous quarters at the Villa Auditore. Despite the spartan furnishings, however, he felt a small bud of warmth blossom in his chest, that the assassin trusted him enough to bring him into his domain, a place that was wholly _Ezio_.

At Leonardo’s dazed expression, Ezio smiled. “You would rather I had taken you to the Rosa in Fiore?”

The artist laughed, sensing the undertone of worry in Ezio’s amusement. “No, this is fine.”

Ezio’s grin broadened. “Come, then. Sit with me,” he said, patting a vacant space on the bed. He began removing the more restricting parts of his armor as Leonardo took a seat, setting them on a nearby chair. Unsure of Ezio’s intent, Leonardo hesitantly mirrored the motion by tugging at his own clothes. 

“No.” The assassin placed his hand on Leonardo’s, stopping him. “That was not my objective. There will be time for that later.” Ezio paused. “If that is what you wish.” 

Heat rushed to Leonardo’s cheeks instantly, and he hoped his embarrassed flush was not evident. “How should we proceed, then?” he asked, feeling foolish.

Ezio seemed to have been caught off guard, his reply uncertain. “However you wish to, my friend.” The last word tumbled out naturally, as if from habit, and though Ezio realized the mistake almost instantly, the damage had been done. Leonardo stiffened, willing to forgive, but while it was true he had been Ezio’s _friend_ for so long, he had to be sure before this went any further. A single clumsy kiss and an increase in overfriendly touches were not enough.

If Ezio wanted him in his life, wanted him, he had better give some further indication. 

“Well,” began Leonardo mildly, “if that is all we are, I’m afraid I have another engagement—”

Ezio stood quickly, grabbing Leonardo’s hand as the artist rose from his seat. “Wait, I…my recruits would appreciate your joining us for dinner tonight.” His arm crept across Leonardo’s back, fingers curling around his shoulder in reluctance to free him.

“Your _recruits_ would, would they?” Leonardo replied, trying to hide a grin. He had seen how the novices adored their Mentore. Certainly this was not Ezio’s true goal, but it would still be a good opportunity to put a face to all the novices he had constructed weapons for; each one, like Ezio, he had equipped with the instruments to protect lives or take them. 

A moment of quiet passed between them. “Not as much as _I_ would appreciate it,” Ezio admitted.

“Ah.” Leonardo closed his eyes, allowing himself to lean gingerly into the assassin’s embrace. “Then I would be honored to dine with you and the others. And regale them with a story or two about their Mentore.”

“Hmm. You could, but some stories are better left untold,” Ezio replied. His expression had turned entirely too predatory, Leonardo decided, eyes fluttering open when the hold on his arm descended deliberately to his waist.

“Oh?” mused Leonardo slyly, as strong fingers wrapped around his hip. “And which ones might those be?” He eyed Ezio’s other hand navigating its way up his thigh, carefully, gauging his response. Leonardo’s consent took the form of a light squeeze of the hand, the smile he offered Ezio warm and accepting.

“These ones,” Ezio said, taking the hint and brazenly bringing his mouth to Leonardo’s.

The kiss came without pretense, without the trappings and disguises of Carnivale, and Leonardo pushed into it, all longing and desperation, not caring where Ezio had been or why he had taken so _long_ , only surged forward to meet Ezio’s mouth with equal need, thinking only of how sweet the assassin’s lips tasted against his.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezio discovers that there are consequences to his actions, and the road to redemption is never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere thanks to **kissmytypos** for permission to write the sequel. Thanks to all of you still following my story! This is the second-last chapter. Almost there!

Chapter Nine.

 

1

 

Ezio’s hands dragged Leonardo into the kiss, the roughness of his lips belying a hidden warmth, and Leonardo bit back a gasp as a finger brushed over the curve of his lips, trailing lightly over his collarbone. 

This was progressing faster than Leonardo anticipated. He had thought they would begin with exploratory touches, feather-light and teasing. Instead, Ezio’s arms closed impatiently around his waist, crushing the artist against him. 

“Your shoulder, we should treat it,” Leonardo said, at the wince that Ezio displayed. A mediocre diversionary tactic, if anything.

Ezio waved away the concern. “I will be _fine_ , Leonardo.”

Another kiss stifled his concerns as Ezio gripped urgent handfuls of the artist’s doublet and pushed him down against the bed. Leonardo managed an offended squawk as Ezio knocked his beret to the floor, but found it impossible to retrieve with Ezio coaxing his lips open with teeth and tongue. 

With a soft sigh of acquiescence, he raked his hands through Ezio’s hair, fingertips blanching white as he dragged them down Ezio’s back. “More,” Leonardo urged, “I need—”

Ezio’s hands looped under Leonardo’s shoulders, fingers digging hard enough to bruise, as he bit down on Leonardo’s neck. “ _Mine_ ,” Ezio growled, marking him as his own, and Leonardo gasped wordlessly, equal parts appreciation and pain, before Ezio bent his head to lick the bite mark in apology. He continued mouthing wet kisses and darting licks under Leonardo’s jawline, along his throat. 

As he stripped off Leonardo’s doublet, Ezio murmured sweet nothings into his ear, about how he had only ever wanted to keep Leonardo _safe_ , from the corruption and bloodshed that tainted his own life, but could never find the right words for comfort or explanation. But to Leonardo, the things Ezio said could never be _nothing_ , and even when Ezio ran out of words, he held Leonardo tight, as if the strength with which he embraced the artist would explain it for him, would demonstrate how much he could not bear to lose him. 

“Leonardo, that night…It meant more to me than…” Ezio continued to struggle for words, even though empty platitudes were not enough to make up for the lost time, and Leonardo brought his mouth to meet Ezio’s to chase away those thoughts. 

“It’s all right, Ezio.” Leonardo hoped his expression showed that he understood. That the time for words was well past, and it was time for action. 

He slid his hands along Ezio’s back to warm and relax the tensed muscle, his tactile memory mapping every scar as Ezio shrugged off his armored garb. His memorization was interrupted by a hand circling slowly inside the waistband of his breeches, Ezio’s hand cupping his hardening flesh. 

Leonardo raised his hips, just enough for Ezio to tug off his breeches as he reached between the artist’s legs to stroke him to hardness. With a firm, sure grip on Leonardo’s cock, he pulled Leonardo toward him, leaning in close for a kiss as his other hand snaked around Leonardo’s waist to dip teasingly into the cleft of his buttocks.

“Ah, Ezio…” He bit back a soft moan, eyes sliding closed as Ezio nuzzled against him, rough beard scraping against the exposed flesh of Leonardo’s neck. “Please. _Now_.”

Nodding, Ezio reached into his bedside drawer for a small vial of oil. 

“Wait, why do you have that?” Leonardo asked, with some measure of trepidation. 

“For the blades. It keeps them from rusting,” Ezio replied plainly.

Leonardo nodded. Of course. After all the lectures he had given about keeping them intact, he was glad Ezio had remembered to clean them with oil them to prevent rusting. He lay back, letting out a grateful little gasp as Ezio slid his finger into the tight ring of muscle.

“S-slowly, please,” Leonardo panted. “It’s been a while since I…” A spark of tight jealousy flashed in Ezio’s expression before the assassin schooled his features once more, and Leonardo couldn’t help the quiet laugh that bubbled forth. “My last was _you_ , Ezio, all those years ago.” 

“Ah.” Ezio’s shoulders sagged noticeably in relief, and he followed by adding another finger. Despite the uncomfortable stretch, Leonardo could only shut his eyes and roll his hips against the sensation, sighing when Ezio’s fingers nudged against the elusive spot inside him. Ezio must have noticed, because he withdrew his fingers, spreading a fair amount of lubrication on them before they returned. 

“Ezio, please…” He canted his hips forward, aching for more, wanting Ezio’s fingers to probe deeper, no—more than fingers. “I need you _now_.”

There was a flurry of motion as Ezio slicked himself with the oil, then pushed Leonardo’s shoulders back against the bed. “Relax,” he whispered, hands sliding up to press Leonardo’s hips back toward his chest.

With a hand down at Ezio’s cock, Leonardo led it to his body, guiding Ezio inside him. He sucked in a wounded breath as Ezio pressed into him, his voice hoarse against his throat. “More. _Please_.” 

Ezio rocked forward, his own voice a breathy, broken moan as Leonardo clutched the pillow. “Like that?”

“Yes. _Yes_.” Another slow, rocking motion forward, and Ezio was _in_ , pushing into the deepest part of him. Leonardo cried out, fingers digging into Ezio’s shoulders, which only served to strengthen the force of the thrusts inside him. “Like that, Ezio, _yes_ —”

The slow rocking rhythm progressed to short, shallow pushes, had him balling the pillow into his fists, clawing the sheets and headboard, his breathless cries concurrent with each thrust. Leonardo’s hand stole downward, toward his neglected arousal, and he let out a surprised moan when Ezio’s hand closed over his, stroking it in tandem as Ezio pushed into him, kneading the spot inside him with short, stabbing thrusts that sent tight jolts of electricity racing through his spine and belly. At an especially hard dig, Leonardo gasped, pulling Ezio toward him, breathing in the scent of tanned hide, sweat, the rank scent of old blood, dizzy with the feeling of Ezio on him, in him and around him.

Sweat ran into his eye, stinging, and Leonardo tried to blink it away, but Ezio was already getting to his knees, pulling Leonardo up and along, hands raking over his chest and hardened nipples as he urged Leonardo’s legs apart. 

Leonardo nearly fell forward, before bracing his hands on Ezio’s chest, as he straddled the assassin’s hips. Ezio was so deep inside him, his thrusts growing faster, harder, that he barely registered Ezio’s hissed, “ _Ride me_ ”.

“Then _kiss_ me,” Leonardo hissed back, unsure if he liked the grin on Ezio’s lips, before his thoughts were interrupted by Ezio bucking his hips, his strong callused hands forcing Leonardo down by the shoulders. The angle of it _hurt_ , and a strangled sob escaped as he tried to lift himself off. “Ezio…let me…” 

He readjusted his hips before sinking down again, crying out as Ezio impaled him from below. Leonardo clamped a hand over his mouth; it wouldn’t do for the other assassins or the novices to hear them. 

“The walls are thick, Leonardo. No one will hear us,” Ezio reassured him, lips brushing dangerously close against his ear.

“Ezio…” Leonardo protested, shivering at the wet heat in his ear, before the next upward stroke drove thoughts of all else from his mind. His next groan of the assassin’s name was laced with desperation, as if Ezio’s name was the only word he knew. As his hands scrabbled at the bedclothes by Ezio’s neck, the assassin urged him to sit up straighter. Leonardo moaned, arching his back against Ezio’s legs, which had come up to support him, his elusive spot being grazed again and again as Ezio pushed _up_ and _in_ , each pulse of pleasure more dizzying than the last as he rocked against him.

Suddenly, Ezio grabbed the hands Leonardo had braced on his chest, pulling them to the side so Leonardo fell forward, unbalanced. He began mouthing hard nips along the side of Leonardo’s throat, his greedy hands raking through Leonardo’s hair, down his back and hips, before rolling them both over along the bed.

“Leonardo,” Ezio began, cradling Leonardo’s cheek in his palm. The lines at his eyes were softer now, and Leonardo brought his hand to cover Ezio’s, recalling the gentle brush of fingers on his face in the alley all those years ago. 

Ezio lay a kiss on his forehead, his eyelids, his lips. Elation leapt in Leonardo’s chest, and he hoped that these touches, this gentleness was what would persist when their passion had long faded away. But _now_ he nearly swore in frustration. 

“There is time _later_ for all of that, Ezio.” He wanted Ezio to move, to affirm that they were really doing this, and—he was ready to spare some expletives when Ezio pulled out completely, palm braced flat against Leonardo’s stomach. He slid up to pinch Leonardo’s right nipple, licking around it before flicking his tongue at the hardened flesh and blowing on it. Leonardo shivered at the sudden coolness, so different from Ezio’s mouth on him, hot and wet. Ezio moved to perform the same motion on the other side, and Leonardo could feel Ezio’s hardness drag a trail of moisture along his thigh. 

Despite wanting more of Ezio’s clever hands and devious mouth, Leonardo grasped the assassin’s erection, feeling it throb minutely in his grip. Ezio looked toward him in surprise, his eyes darkening with desire as Leonardo managed, his voice strained, “Don’t…don’t pull out.”

“Fine.” He pressed back into the artist, grinning at Leonardo’s tense breath in and crushing his teeth against Leonardo’s neck, leaving a rose-colored bruise in its wake. 

“Ezio, that will…” His protest was punctuated by a sharp gasp at a well-aimed thrust. “…leave a mark.”

“And?”

“And people will _see_ ,” he hissed, as Ezio bit another tender spot on his throat.

Ezio paused, as if to reconsider his actions, before a sly grin stole across his face. “Let them,” he said. “Then they will see that you are _mine_.” Ezio seemed unconcerned about it, and Leonardo could only surmise that it was because he had all but agreed to spend most of his time at the hideout.

Still, Ezio’s carelessness could not go unpunished. Leonardo slid his hand to Ezio’s shoulder, and feeling the jut of the bone there, pressed on it experimentally. Ezio flinched, pulling back to give Leonardo a reproachful look. 

“That was painful,” he said quietly. An apology sprang to Leonardo’s lips before Ezio claimed them quickly. “I probably deserved that,” Ezio grinned. “I forget, sometimes, that you are a master of the human body.”

 _Riposte successful_ , Leonardo decided, as he smiled wryly in response. He bucked his hips to meet Ezio’s, relishing each tortured moan wrenched from the assassin’s lips as his hands gripped Ezio’s hips, pulling him forward, driving him deeper, gasping as Ezio impacted his prostate. 

“Remind me not to cross you again,” Ezio said thoughtfully. “Or, perhaps I should provoke you more often?” A slight quirk of Ezio’s lips was all the warning Leonardo had before the assassin drove his hips forward suddenly, at the same pleasure-inducing angle. Leonardo flung out a hand out blindly as he cried out, hoping for contact, a touch, anything, before Ezio grasped his hand, lacing their fingers together and pinning Leonardo’s hand to the bed as he plunged inside him.

The strokes grew longer, harder still, until Leonardo gasped and begged nonsensically, grinding his hips down in a desperate attempt for more friction, before it occurred to him that a man of his age should not be moaning so wantonly. He balled his fist, biting down into it in a poor attempt to hide his face and stifle his moans.

“Let me see your face, Leonardo. Why do you hide it?”

“I…” Leonardo licked his lips nervously. “I look unsightly.” A thin streak of fluid trailed from the corner of his mouth, and he was sure the flush on his face only made his freckles more prominent. Surely he was the antithesis of the epitomical image of eroticism.

“Nonsense,” Ezio disagreed, lifting Leonardo’s hand from his face. “I want to see your face as you take me deep within you, hear you moan my name as you release, while your body will only know the touch of mine, and mine alone.” 

With that, he shoved his mouth against Leonardo’s, taking it roughly, and Leonardo parted his lips readily, greedily, to take all that Ezio had to give.

He was drowning in a maelstrom of sensation, and as it pulled Leonardo ever downward, he had a hope, a wild hope—that for a moment, Ezio could forget about chasing after Cesare, forget the pressures and responsibilities associated with being the Mentore, and upholding the honor of the Auditore family. That Ezio could just be himself, here in their chambers, as they made love. 

Seeing his tentative expression, Ezio spoke. “It’s Ezio. Ezio Auditore.” 

When Leonardo raised a bemused eyebrow, he was met with a frown. “You said,” Ezio began tentatively, worrying the edge of the bedclothes with a chipped fingernail, “that you only ever wanted to know the stranger’s name, and I…I thought I should own up to that name.”

“Ah,” Leonardo nodded, and soon after, when the word _angelo_ left Ezio’s lips, he wanted to think that it was because Ezio held one in his arms, the ephemeral nature not from a gloriously tailored Carnivale costume, but from the warmth and light that suffused him. He hoped it was enough to banish Ezio’s personal demons, if only for a fleeting moment.

That thought came on the eve of one deep, liberating stroke, and Leonardo found his release, moaning through the tight clench of his jaw as his back arched off the bed, a weak, whimpering gasp escaping as Ezio sank deep and spilled within him.

After, they lay within the sheets, catching their breath as their legs tangled leisurely in the blanket and around each other, Ezio slumping against him in idle contentment.

“Again,” Leonardo demanded, when his breath had returned. He cinched his hands tightly into Ezio’s hair, pulling him down for a ragged kiss, his own face still flushed with the heat of arousal. “Take me like you did that night at Carnivale.” 

It surprised him, how raw his voice still was with need, with _want_. 

Ezio was quiet for a moment, the hint of a grin at the corner of his mouth. “We are no longer what we once were, Leonardo.” He paused. “One would think the ardour of youth should be tempered by the wisdom of maturity.”

Leonardo looked up at him, into his eyes, a mischievous smile on his lips. “A pity,” he sighed theatrically, twisting a lock of hair that had fallen over Ezio’s eyes. “You were doing so well for someone your _age_ —”

His voice broke off into a stifled moan as Ezio claimed his lips again and obliged him once more.

 

2

 

By the end of their third coupling, Leonardo lay panting, staring blearily at the ceiling in a mixture of bliss and exhaustion, his fingers twisted weakly in the sheets. Ezio was pressing a trail of lazy kisses up from Leonardo’s navel to his mouth, his eyebrow arched in amusement. “So _this_ is why you were so desperate to find him? _Me?_ ”

“Desperate? Hardly,” Leonardo replied haughtily, though his eyes refused to meet Ezio’s and he hid his face to conceal the shamed flush. He decided not to mention Ezio’s desperation only a few hours prior, and was sure that Ezio was wisely avoiding mention of Leonardo’s previous indiscretion at his workshop in Venezia. 

“I am sorry, Leonardo. I did not mean to tease,” Ezio said solemnly. He settled against Leonardo’s back, stroking the side of his face without commenting on the heat that had rushed to Leonardo’s cheeks.

“Though I _have_ thought about that time. Occasionally,” Leonardo admitted in a small voice. 

And when Leonardo said _occasionally_ , he meant _always_ , prompting Ezio to respond with his baritone laugh, one of the great many things he enjoyed about Ezio’s presence.

Ezio stretched his hand, intertwined with Leonardo’s, toward the ceiling. “The assassin and the artist,” he mused, as soft candlelight filtered through their fingers. “We make a strange pair.”

“But a good one?” Leonardo prompted. After all this, Ezio’s answer had better be in the affirmative.

“A good one,” agreed Ezio, bringing their joined hands to rest around Leonardo’s waist. He nudged Leonardo’s rump playfully with his hips. “In more ways than one.” 

Leonardo swatted him, feigning outrage for a moment, before thinking better of it and retaliating instead by pushing back against Ezio. 

“What, you haven’t had enough yet?” Ezio grinned. “You are insatiable, I swear.”

Leonardo made a soft scoffing noise in response. This day had been one of the few where he had seen Ezio truly smile, and a blossom of warmth unfurled in his belly at the thought. He closed his eyes, about to drift off to sleep with the notion that, yes, he could live for that smile, when Ezio wove his other hand into Leonardo’s, curled comfortably beneath the pillows, while tightening the other arm still wrapped protectively around Leonardo’s waist. 

“Grazie, Leonardo,” Ezio murmured softly. “For loving me.” 

Shifting hazily in the arms encircling him, Leonardo’s lip quirked at seeing the assassin at his most vulnerable, and he answered with a sleepy smile of his own.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezio discovers that there are consequences to his actions, and the road to redemption is never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere thanks to **kissmytypos** for permission to write the sequel. This is the last chapter. A big thank you to everyone who's followed this story to the end!
> 
>  **Spoilers:** ACB spoilers.

Chapter Ten.

A soft rustling of bedclothes and the creak of the floorboard were Leonardo’s only alerts that something was amiss. He opened his eyes groggily, only to catch Ezio sitting on the side of the bed, tugging on his boots. The sun had not yet risen, and here Ezio was, already donning his armour. 

_Where is he going?_ Leonardo wondered. _The morning light is not even upon us._

He sat up in the bed, wincing at the ache in his hips and rump, though he gave a pleased hum—it was evidence that their night before had not been a dream. Catching the end of Ezio’s sash, Leonardo tugged at it sleepily. 

“This is becoming a bad habit of yours, leaving without a word in the morning.” The jibe was teasing, yet pointed. “Won’t you come back to bed?” Despite Ezio’s frown, he held fast to the sash. He was afraid that if he let go, he would lose Ezio all over again. 

“That was not my intention,” Ezio said quickly. He held out a tiny scroll of parchment, and Leonardo noticed the cooing of a carrier pigeon at their windowsill. “I received a missive from Claudia about Cesare’s plans. He may be heading to the Colosseo today to solicit Templar loyalists for aid. I must meet with her for more information.”

Leonardo was sure his expression must have crumpled, because Ezio said softly, “I still have duties as an assassin.” He paused to look out the window, as drops of rain pattered quietly against the pane. “And as an Auditore.” He looked back at Leonardo. “You must know that.”

Leonardo sighed. Of course he knew. It was Ezio’s drive for being both that brought them to this day. “I know,” he said quietly. He stopped, reluctant to use his trump card for how petulant it sounded. “It’s just…you said things would be different this time.”

“They _will_ ,” Ezio insisted. “I will be back before you know it.” He gave Leonardo a brief kiss on the forehead. “Have faith in me, amore.” Ezio paused, as if he were testing, even tasting that last word, then smiled, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to say. 

“I do,” Leonardo asserted. He allowed a gentle smile to curve his lips. “But faith does not keep me from wishing that you would lie with me a little longer.”

“I…suppose I could,” Ezio said, after a short deliberation. He removed his boots and lay on his side, wrapping his arms around Leonardo as his chest came to rest along the artist’s back.

As Leonardo felt Ezio’s pleasing weight settle against the bed, he turned to frame Ezio’s face in his hands, smoothing back an errant strand of hair that had fallen over his brow. The boyish cheer in his face had long fled, replaced by something harsher. He noticed how weathered Ezio looked now, and thought back to their first carefree days in Firenze, basking in the sunlight before the storm that changed both their lives had occurred—a tumultuous one that left Ezio shattered on the rocks, spurring the chain of events that transformed the young noble into a Mentore of the Assassin order. 

“How long has it been, Ezio?” murmured Leonardo. He paused to think of the shadows his lover had lived in, killed from ever since. “Since you have been graced by the sun’s warmth?”

“ _Dio mio_ ,” Ezio muttered under his breath, in what seemed like fond exasperation. He was about to point out that Ezio no longer had the right to invoke that name, when Ezio smiled, radiant, like the youth he had been in Firenze, and his callused hand cradled Leonardo’s cheek. “ _You_ are my sun now.”

 

[End.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's followed this story to the end! I have a coda written to the story that I might post in the future, but for all intents and purposes, this fic is finally done. I hope to work on some other AC stories as time permits. Thank you all again for reading!! ^_^


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